


illusion of bliss

by lookoutlovers



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Childhood Friends, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, communication who is she, only lucas is already gone for eliott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2020-07-29 17:10:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 112,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20085793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookoutlovers/pseuds/lookoutlovers
Summary: lucas isn’t shocked, per se, eliott has always had a tendency to come up with terrible, terrible ideas, it’s been like that since they were kids. but wholeheartedly, lucas thinks this one might just be simultaneously his worst and his best.(or, eliott formulates a perfectly foolproof plan to win back his ex and lucas is there to help.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back on my bullshit, i guess?
> 
> title is from illusion of bliss by alicia keys.
> 
> i hope u enjoy my rendition of elu as childhood friends meets fake relationship meets friends to lovers because i have no self-control, clearly!!! i must combine them!!! clichés unite!!!

“So, what this says, is that people want to be liked and have a need to belong,” professor Barrière is saying as he paces back and forth in front of the class. Lucas glances to the clock for what feels like the thousandth time in the past thirty minutes, glaring at the ticking hands as if his burning gaze can defeat the laws of time. Not so shockingly, it hasn’t been working, has maybe even caused the minutes to drag on at an even slower pace.

Lucas sighs. The enmity he feels towards the matter of social psychology is palpable, and rightfully justified, in his opinion, because it's classes like these that suck every ounce of life out of him. Bone dry lectures comprising of social constructionism and behaviourism, Pavlov and whatnot. It’s agonizing. Lucas tends to find more of a fascination in the biological aspect of his course, because he adores the science edge it has. The intricate workings of the brain have always avidly intrigued him, how our behaviour can be shaped by things like genetics and neuroscience and such. The content just seems to make more sense to Lucas, _ there’s a logic there. _

“And I’ll actually go as far as saying that our need to belong is in some ways, more fundamental to our survival than food, water or shelter.” Barrière holds two hands up as if to say _ I said what I said. _ Lucas squints at him, doubts that when it comes to a life or death situation he’s really going to forego food in order to impress Cécile from his Wednesday lab class.

Consequently, it’s no surprise that Lucas is the first one out the door the second the clock hits four and his professor dismisses them, _ finally _. He immediately spots Yann leaning casually against a wall on the campus grounds when he exits the psychology building, his phone pressed against his ear.

“Who’s that?” Lucas mouths as he approaches. 

Yann smiles, nodding along to whatever is being said to him on the other line and inaudibly enunciating back, “Eliott.”

Lucas grins. “Hi Eliott!” he rises onto his tiptoes to yell into the phone pressed to Yann’s ear, who recoils backwards, batting Lucas away.

“Eliott says hi back,” he mumbles reluctantly, after. Lucas laughs at Yann’s evident annoyance while purposefully ignoring the way his stomach flutters at the thought of Eliott possibly smiling to himself on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, sweet bro,” Yann is saying, as they begin to walk towards the campus gates, “we’ll see you there, then. Yeah, bye. Bye.” 

Yann pockets his phone. Lucas waits an appropriate five seconds until he can’t take not knowing what the two were conspiring about any longer. He glances sideways, speaking nonchalantly. “What was that about?”

There’s a bus stop right on campus, where the buses swing right past the apartment Lucas shares with Yann, Arthur and Basile. But it’s also a convenient ten minute walk, so days as pleasant as today, where Lucas and Yann finish class around similar times, they will usually wordlessly opt for the brief exposure of fresh air. The breeze that sweeps through Lucas’ hair and the sun that licks at his skin is an amiable disparity to the airless lecture hall he had just spent two hours woefully suffocating in.

“Eliott was just asking if we’d come to the party Marco is having tonight,” Yann explains, stepping to the side slightly as a runner loiters up behind them.

The scowl that forces its way onto Lucas’ face is something he refuses to be held accountable for, because _ fucking Marco, of course. _ Marco, who Eliott had met in his first year of university, Marco who is hot, and half Italian and has a smile Lucas doesn’t trust with a single bone in his body. Not even the infinitesimal ones that barely make up his ears.

Eliott and Marco had gotten together rather quickly, one day Eliott had been worried that he wasn’t making any friends within the new and daunting college environment, the next he was gushing about the guy in his literature module class who _ looks like he’s been carved by Greek gods, _ and, _ walks me back to my dorm after every lecture. _

Lucas had swallowed his pride at the news and tried to be as happy for Eliott as he could, after all, it’s not like he had to _ see _ Eliott falling in love with someone right in front of him. Lucas and the guys still had another year of high school to endure, so aside from the self-asserting Instagram posts he had to aversely double tap, it was tolerable. Though, just about.

So, hearing about it was one thing, but once Lucas finished up high school and started college for himself, actually _ seeing _ Eliott fall in love with Marco right in front of him was, to a notable degree, so much worse.

“I thought they broke up?” Lucas questions, trying his hardest to feign indifference. Because he _ remembers _ patently, the night a mere few weeks ago when Eliott had shown up to their flat in tears because they decided to end things. He _ specifically _ recalls Eliott incessantly emphasising how it had been a mutual decision, but by his demoralised demeanour, Lucas wasn’t so sure. And that was correspondingly just as difficult for Lucas to watch, to sit back and act like his heart wasn’t lurching at the sight of Eliott’s heart breaking into millions of pieces over someone who never deserved him in the first place.

Yann only shrugs. “They did,” he says, “I guess they’re still cool though.”

Lucas doesn’t want to believe that, really. Because, to put it politely, Marco has been an asshole to Eliott, he’s never deserved him, for many reasons, too many reasons.

“Well don’t look too pleased,” Yann’s sardonic tone is infuriating, because Lucas thinks his animosity towards the guy is rightfully justified, given the circumstances.

He can’t help it, really.

Because Marco doesn’t deserve Eliott, he doesn’t. He persistently takes Eliott for granted, and Eliott can’t see past the empty promises and tepid apologies, but he deserves _ so much better _. Because Eliott is a pure joy, really. He deserves someone who will wake him up with warm tea every morning, someone who makes sure their schedule is always clear to go to his art exhibitions, who will be there right by his side when he has his down days.

Someone who lives to give him the world.

Not someone who undermines his passions and cute interests, or forgets about plans, or disappears for days when Eliott clearly needs someone there with him.

It’s not like Lucas is jealous or anything, he’s not. And it’s not like he’s madly in love with Eliott or anything, he’s not.

He’s not, massively. Just a little.

“You know,” Yann begins slowly, cautiously, “now that Eliott is single—”

“No,” Lucas cuts him off promptly, foreseeing the direction of his sentence and offended that Yann would even _ think _ of using his accidental knowledge of the situation against him. Accidental, because Lucas refuses to take responsibility for his drunken confessions. This particular one had happened at the age of seventeen, after seeing Eliott making out with some girl at one of Emma’s notorious parties. He’s not proud of it, but it happened. 

So. Yann knows.

“Oh come on! You’ve been pining over him for _ years, _Lucas.”

Lucas huffs as they reach the apartment building. “I’m tired of talking about this, Yann. You know why I can’t go there, Eliott and I have been friends for way too long to jeopardize that.”

Yann swipes his key card into the slot by the door before pushing it open for Lucas to enter ahead of him, says “How do you know it would jeopardize things? Eliott could feel the same.”

“He doesn’t.” Lucas knows Eliott doesn’t.

Their friendship had blossomed an impressive twelve years ago, way long before Lucas had met Yann and the others on his first day of high school. Eliott and his parents had just moved into the house next door, and even though he was two years older than Lucas, they hit it off immediately. From the day a nine-year-old Eliott had rattled on Lucas’ bedroom door and announced that his mother was downstairs making pleasantries with Lucas’ mother and that he was _ bored of adult talk, do you want to come outside and play Pokémon? _ Lucas had known instantly that they were going to be great friends.

Rightfully, they became the best of friends. Inseparable to the point their mothers would tease them relentlessly for being so codependent. Lucas isn’t exactly sure when the lines between just friendship and wanting more than that became so blurred for him. He recalls sitting up in Eliott’s rickety tree house at the age of fourteen, the moon casting a silver glow onto the highest points of his face. He remembers the pure awe swimming within Eliott’s blue-grey eyes as he gushed about how beautiful the full moon looked, how his entire entity radiated a childlike wonder as he watched the stars paint the night sky above.

And in that moment, all Lucas could think, stupidly, _ recklessly _ , was, _ I think I love you. _

Maybe the feeling could be classified as misconstrued, as teenage infatuation getting the best of him. Because there’s no doubt that Eliott is an attractive person, it was evident in the way all the girls at school would always swoon over him. But the fact that the feeling had stuck to him like tar. It had become a deep-rooted desire, an insistent niggling. And it’s not like it was embedded in his need to survive. Losing the feeling, growing out of it wouldn’t be the end of the world, it would only deter his balance marginally, could even possibly help him live his life a little easier. He wouldn’t have these feelings of unrequited love, he could live contently with being _ just friends. _

The thing is, Lucas never grew out of it, because here he is, at the age of nineteen, still, wholeheartedly and undoubtedly, in love with Eliott Demaury.

So, alas.

Thankfully, Yann drops it, most likely catching onto Lucas’ cutting tone and not wanting to get his head bit off like he usually does during these kinds of conversations.

Basile and Arthur are in the living room arguing over a game of Fifa when they step into the flat, barely acknowledging their existence with the petulant back-and-forth they have going on.

“Are you serious? You can’t just steal my controller because you’re losing! It’s cheating!” Arthur is proclaiming, arms reaching out to snap the controller from Basile’s grasp. 

Basile huffs, “It was only a joke, calm down!”

“You’re just a sore loser,” Arthur grumbles. Basile goes to respond, but Yann clears his throat.

“You guys good?”

“Fine,” Arthur narrows his eyes at Basile, who jerks his head forward in challenge. Lucas chuckles at their infantile behaviour, falling down onto the sofa with a sigh, _ exhausted. _

“So,” Yann begins, flopping almost on top of Lucas, who groans and shoves him away, “who’s up for a party tonight?”

Arthur and Basile abandon their bickering and glance up like stunned meerkats. “Party? Where?”

“At Marco’s. Eliott invited us.”

Basile scrunches his face up. “They’re still together?”

“No,” Lucas mumbles, a little too quickly, probably. He ignores Yann’s eyes burning into the side of his face as he knocks his head back against the sofa cushions. He’s really not in the mood to endure an entire night of watching Eliott pine over Marco, like at all, thinks he’d much rather stay here alone and drown in his own puddle of self-pity.

“I don’t know if I’ll go, I have work in the morning,” he mumbles.

If looks could kill, Lucas thinks.

“Bullshit, dude!” Arthur argues, “_ Come on, _you don’t even need to drink.”

Lucas means to protest, he does, but the look Arthur sends him is _ scary _ . He’s pretty certain the idea of watching Eliott pine over Marco while _ sober _ sounds a whole lot worse, actually, but he’d also like to keep his life for a little while longer. So, rolling his eyes, he says, “ _ Okay.” _

And that’s that.

Reluctantly, Lucas tries to enjoy himself as much as possible during pre-drinks with the guys, all while deciding to sacrifice the saviour of alcohol. Because, contrary to popular belief, he loves himself far too much to have to agonisingly suffer through an entire eight hour Saturday morning shift with a hangover.

All hopes of such fly completely out of the window, however, once they arrive at the party and Lucas spots Eliott in the kitchen speaking into Marco’s ear. They’re standing unnecessarily close for two people who have just broken up, Lucas thinks.

And _ yeah _, he needs a drink, like, right now.

He loses Yann, Arthur and Basile somewhere amongst the crowds crammed into the apartment. The fluorescent strobe of purple and blue lights and the overcrowding only act as catalysts to Lucas’ aggravation, _ because _ he’s within Marco’s vicinity, probably, who now has a hand on Eliott’s waist. Lucas’ need for the numbing effects of alcohol becoming increasingly more difficult to abstain from, then, with every snail dragging second that goes by.

Their conversation doesn’t seem to last long—or it could have, Lucas doesn’t know, he’s only just arrived after all—as only a few minutes later, with Lucas already halfway through an unidentifiable pink concoction of _ something, _something strong and nauseatingly sweet, Eliott pounces right over to him.

“You came!”

He's definitely tipsy, if not drunker, if his lazy smile and pink shaded cheeks are anything to go by. Lucas smiles, because although he aches for Eliott in ways unimaginable, they’re best friends first and foremost, and he’s been refining the art of hiding his feelings for five years, now. He’s basically a pro at this point.

“Of course,” Lucas says sincerely, “of course I’d come.”

“What are you drinking?” Eliott steals the plastic cup from Lucas’ loose hold, taking a sip and scrunching his nose. “Oh fuck, tastes like straight sugar.”

Lucas chuckles, “I know, s’too sweet.”

“Just like you,” Eliott winks, with ease, like he isn’t completely ruining Lucas for anyone else in his stride. It’s fine. Lucas has got this.

“Come on,” Eliott sets the drink aside, and grabs onto Lucas’ hand to guide him through the crowd gathered in the kitchen, “I’ll get you something nicer.”

Eliott stays true to his word and finds Lucas something nicer to drink, or several nicer drinks. But Lucas isn’t counting, probably doesn’t even have the required brain capacity to count further than three. So he feels contently buzzed, a little giddy. Whether it’s due to the alcohol lacing in his bloodstream, or Eliott leaning against the kitchen counter beside him laughing at another one of Lucas’ dumb jokes, he can’t be too sure.

But probably the latter, if he had to guess.

Lucas shuffles in his seated position on top of the counter, bringing one leg up to his chest as the other dangles loosely over the edge. His mother would probably slap him over the head for putting his scruffy shoes all over someone’s kitchen counter, but this is Marco’s house, Lucas reminds himself, so quite frankly he doesn’t give a fuck.

Be it petty, or whatever.

“Eliott,” Lucas snickers, tugging on his sleeve, “Did you hear about the kidnapping at school?”

Eliott squints. “What?”

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine. He woke up.”

The cackle that erupts out of Eliott is incandescently beautiful, _ stunning _. His head tilts back as a euphonious melody of laughter tumbles from his lips, his eyes squeezing shut to depict little half-moons, faint crinkles detailing his soft skin. Lucas thinks that being the inducement behind such a mesmerising fold of events is his calling in life, wants to be the reason Eliott laughs and smiles for as long as he’s alive. It’s fruitful reward is eminently thrilling.

“You’re an idiot,” Eliott chuckles once his laughter has subdued.

His face falters then, the upwards tilt to his lips fading downwards, and Lucas frowns because, _ no, that’s not right, smile. _

“Are you okay?” he asks. Eliott shakes his head so slightly Lucas almost misses it, there’s now a prominent frown on his face. Lucas follows his line of vision across the kitchen until it lands on Marco, who is chatting rather flirtatiously with a tall blonde guy. _ Asshole _, Lucas thinks.

“Hey,” he mumbles, pulling Eliott’s eyes away from the two, “did you two get back together?” Lucas hates that he has to ask, but it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve broken it off and then gotten back together shortly after without Lucas’ knowledge.

“No,” Eliott turns around to lean his elbows on the kitchen counter, dropping his chin onto his palms. Lucas tilts his neck, resting his own head against the cabinet behind him so he’s able to get a better view of Eliott’s face. “He says this is it. I don’t know, I think I can get him back.”

Lucas’ heart plummets. _ Don’t, _ he wants to say, _ he doesn’t deserve you. _ The idea of Eliott feeling sad over Marco, the thought of Eliott crying, or losing sleep, or hurting over someone who clearly doesn’t care how he feels right now, causes anger to curl inside Lucas’ stomach, harsh waves of fury churning within him, thick and murky. _ Why do you want him back when he isn’t good to you? _ Lucas aches to scream out, _ why do you love him when he doesn’t give you the entire world like you deserve? _

But it’s not his place. Eliott is an adult, can make his own decisions. It’s none of Lucas’ business, really. But it doesn’t stop the throbbing in his chest, the anguish and the hurt he feels seeing Eliott so upset.

“How are you going to do that?” Lucas asks instead, pushing those unwelcome thoughts away, because he isn’t _ that _drunk. Eliott glances up to Lucas, his lips pursed in thought. A few beats pass where he looks as if he’s contemplating something, neither of them speak. Lucas waits.

Eventually, Eliott stands up straighter, his gaze flicking around the room briefly before ultimately landing on Lucas.

“I have to make him jealous,” he decides, assuredly.

Lucas narrows his eyes, not fully able to control his involuntary expressions at such a level of intoxication. “What do you mean?”

“Like, I need to make out with someone, right now.” He glances around the room again, this time with more urgency.

“Right now?” Lucas only laughs because he’s so taken aback, shocked by the abruptness of Eliott’s outburst.

Eliott huffs. “Yeah.” He’s still looking around the kitchen, a little desperate and a little unsatisfied. And Lucas couldn’t have possibly prepared himself for what comes out of Eliott’s mouth, next, no amount of preparation in the world could have made the words slap him over the face any less forcefully. Any less unexpectedly.

“We should make out.”

In essence, Eliott is considerably wasted, maybe even more so than Lucas. But it still doesn’t soften the load. And Lucas isn’t shocked, per se, Eliott has always had a tendency to come up with terrible, terrible ideas, it's been like that since they were kids. Like the time he convinced Lucas to come to school dressed in Mario and Luigi Halloween costumes during March, which was just plain _ stupid _ because they weren’t even in the same year never mind the same classes. So in the end they both just looked like unpaired fools. Or the time he talked Lucas into climbing one of the highest trees in the park they would always hang out in, but Lucas had gotten stuck and they ended up having to call Eliott’s dad to come and help him down. 

Eliott calls his ideas hilarious, see, Lucas just calls them a pain in the ass.

But, wholeheartedly, Lucas thinks this one might just be simultaneously his worst _ and _ his best.

Because of course Lucas wants to kiss Eliott, has so since he was fourteen, and _ of course _ he wants to rub it in Marco’s face. But, pathetically, he also only wants to kiss Eliott if it’s _ real _, if it would mean something.

However, when he really thinks about it, _ really, _Lucas can’t say no. To say no would insinuate something is wrong, that he thinks it would be weird. And it shouldn’t be weird, because it shouldn’t have to mean anything.

Then what would Eliott say if Lucas did deny? _ Why don’t you want to kiss me? Is there something you’re not telling me? _ Or, _ Oh okay, I’ll just go ask someone else. _ Maybe he’d go seek out Arthur or Yann, who in their own drunken states would agree unhesitatingly and then just laugh about it the next morning. Or maybe Eliott would find a nameless stranger who would jump on the offer without a question, would maybe even take Eliott home and do more, because why wouldn’t they, _ look at Eliott. _ He wouldn’t blame them. And to Lucas, that possibility sounds so much worse.

_ Exceptionally worse. _

In the end, it’s why the next words to leave Lucas’ mouth are only partially justified. Just about.

“Okay, if you think that will work.”

Eliott grins. “It will,” it’s confident, “but only if that’s okay. With you.” He’s watching Lucas inquisitively now, almost giving him a free pass out, if he wants it. Really, Lucas should take it, he should, for his own sake. But he’s already established the fact that he can’t think straight when it comes to Eliott, like, at all. Thus, a very bad, immature decision is made.

“Yeah, it’s okay.”

Eliott doesn’t look back over to Marco before he moves to face Lucas, simply locks his eyes onto Lucas’, searching for any signs of retrogression, Lucas reckons. There are none. He places a hand to Lucas’ bent knee, removing it from the counter and then spreading his legs so he can fit between them.

“Okay?” He whispers lowly. Lucas only nods, words and thoughts scattering.

He blinks and Eliott’s hands are on his face, cupping his cheeks. They’re warm, large, they seem to engulf his face entirely .

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” Eliott mumbles, moving closer, closer, _ closer _.

Lucas shuts his eyes, feels eternities shutter past before he finally feels Eliott’s lips brush against his own. It starts off soft, testing. Like the first dip of toes in the sea’s shore, but then Eliott is pressing firmer, and he’s parting his lips and Lucas feels like he’s just been submerged head first within the deepest darkest depths of the ocean’s waves. He clenches his eyes together harder when Eliott slides his tongue along Lucas’ bottom lip, and he rests his hands on Eliott’s shoulders to ground himself. A reminder to himself. _This isn’t real,_ _it’s only for show._

As Eliott licks into Lucas’ mouth, he finds himself aching to savour it, in a way. Mainly because he’s aware this will never happen again, and maybe it’s almost like a taste of what could be, a moment of self-indulgence. A selfish insight into what it would be like if he could kiss Eliott anytime and anywhere he wanted for everyone to see. He’s vastly aware of that now, the fact that people are most likely staring at them— the couple unashamedly making out against the kitchen counter. And he’s even more acutely conscious of the fact that this is Eliott’s ex’s party, and most of the people here know him, and his relationship with Marco.

Lucas is merely treading water at this stage, he’s staying afloat but his limbs are aching. Eliott’s hands are tugging the hair at the nape of his neck to move him closer and it’s only a matter of time before he can’t keep up with the thrashing waves, the tugging of his heart.

It’s only a matter of time before he drowns.

After what feels like _ hours _ , _ days, weeks, _Eliott pulls away, but only a fraction. Lucas feels his breath, warm against his skin as he speaks, “Is he looking?”

And. _ Yeah, _right. Not real.

Lucas ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach and discreetly as possible glances over to where Marco had been standing. He’s not looking, Lucas notes. But he doesn’t want to disappoint Eliott, doesn’t want him to regret this, to think it was all for nothing. Not when it had felt that good, _ dizzying. _

So, Lucas only tells a small white lie. Just a little one.

“Yeah.”

Eliott kisses Lucas again. Perhaps, deep down, selfishly, because that’s exactly what Lucas is, right at the bottom of the seabed, it’s what Lucas had furtively hoped for. Quietly wishing to feel the brush of Eliott’s lips against his own just one last time.

This time Eliott’s hands go for Lucas’ thighs, his grip firm as he pulls Lucas closer to him, a muffled grunt spilling from the back of his throat. Lucas _ tries _ tremendously hard to suppress the moan that threatens to surge from his own mouth, only half succeeding as the sound comes out as a satisfied hum. Which is moderately less embarrassing, but is still.

Nevertheless, Lucas has a job to do, so he pushes past it and wraps his arms around Eliott’s neck, tiling his head _ just so _ to give Eliott better access. Because, again, selfishly, Lucas wants _ more _.

It’s over far too soon. Eliott pulls away with a slow dragging bite to Lucas’ bottom lip. Realistically, Lucas shouldn’t feel this disappointed at the sudden loss, but he can’t deny how harrowing the lack of warmth feels, the vast emptiness that overcomes him as Eliott moves further and further away. Ominous.

“You’re good at that,” Eliott pants, noticeably out of breath. Lucas desperately wants to question him. _What?_ _Good at what? Good at kissing? Good at pretending?_

Instead, he chuckles lightly, ignores the comment, mostly, because in truth, maybe he doesn’t really want to know the answer.

With the way Eliott is looking at him— their faces perfectly level because although Lucas is sitting on a high surface, Eliott is so damn tall it barely even makes a difference, with the small tugging of his swollen lips and the crimson dusting of his cheeks—Lucas is almost able to let his mind believe this is real. That Eliott wants to kiss him because it’s _ him, _not because he wants to make another person jealous. For a second Lucas allows himself to savour the moment, to take a picture of the pretty glint in Eliott’s eyes and lock it away into the safe possession of his heart.

Although, it isn’t real, he reminds himself. Because Eliott doesn’t feel the same. It could never be real.

It’s just pretend.

*

The events after that become somewhat blurred, to Lucas, lines of memories merging together, losing time and orders and recollection.

Ideally, the next morning Lucas would have woken up an hour before his shift, well rested after a healthy eight hours. He’d fade out of dreams naturally as the sun peaks her rays through his curtains, then he’d stumble into the kitchen to make himself some coffee that would awaken his mind just that little bit more, an extra push for the day ahead.

Unfortunately, this isn’t an ideal world.

Lucas had somehow made it home with Yann and Arthur sometime around three in the morning, he’s not particularly sure yet where Basile ends up in the equation, god knows. He had still been relatively intoxicated by the time he flopped onto his bed, the room spinning as he lay on his back willing the feeling of nausea to disappear.

And regrettably, Lucas doesn’t wake up unprovoked to the natural light beyond his window. Instead, he is forcefully ripped from his imperative slumber by a heavy weight collapsing on top of him, the force of it knocking a sprout of air from his stomach. It leaves him winded and groggy, the most insufferable dull pang pulsating through his head when he only as much as tilts it slightly.

”Ow!” Lucas tenses under the weight, attempting to free his arms from the infinite tangle of sheets and limbs roping around him.

He’s fully prepared to come face-to-face with an intruder of some sort, an axe murderer or a cat burglar, or something as equally inconvenient. What Lucas _ isn’t _ expecting, however, is for Eliott’s way too smiley face to pop up from the covers and beam down at him like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Lucas grimaces. “Eliott. What the fuck?”

Eliott must find Lucas’ disorientation absolutely hilarious, as he laughs brightly. “Well good morning to you too, sunshine.”

The effort it takes to shove Eliott off him and over to the side is just plain disrespectful at such an ungodly hour. But Eliott moves eventually, opting to shuffle under the covers next to Lucas and humming contentedly.

”What fucking time is it?” Lucas asks, shutting his eyes again because it’s _ early, _ and _ too bright. _“And how did you even get in?” 

Next to him, he can hear Eliott shifting around to make himself more comfortable. “You guys didn’t lock your front door,” he laughs again, Lucas thinks if he were a little more awake right now he’d be more worried that his stomach swoons at the sound, but he also still feels considerably nauseous, so, that's that.. “And it’s just gone seven.”

Lucas snaps his eyes open at this, “_ Seven in the morning? _ Why would you wake me up this early? Are you some kind sadist?” He slaps Eliott across the chest, because he doesn’t start work until nine, which means he could have afforded another hour of sleep, _ at least. _

Eliott only shrugs, catching Lucas’ flailing hand and linking their fingers together. The action should be anomalous, should feel unsettling, odd, because Lucas and Eliott are just friends, after all. But it’s _ just that. _ They’ve always been like that, close. Eliott has little to no perception of personal space, to be blunt. And it’s not like Lucas would object, he loves it when Eliott holds his hand. It’s something they’ve always done, a comforting gesture that says, _ are you okay, _ or _ I’m a little worried, I need to tell you something, _ sometimes it’s a, _ I don’t feel so good, but I don’t really feel like talking about it. _

Then sometimes, seldom, there is no apparent reason other than, _ just because. _

Lucas coyly wonders what it means this time, why Eliott has decided to catch him off guard lien this and set little scorching flames alight to Lucas’ fingertips, burning his palm, warming his skin.

“I wanted to talk about last night,” Eliott voices after a short silence.

Lucas frowns, thinks, _what about last night, _tries to rack his brain for memories of anything particularly significant, an event worthy enough that would cause Eliott to deem it necessary to wake him up so goddamn early like this. The last few hours are still a little blurred in his mind and he _tries_, _really hard_ to remember. Tries to replay the scenes in his head, thinks back to how he had arrived to the party feeling pissed off, how he had abandoned all hope of staying sober, how he had spent most of the night sat on top of the counter in Marco’s kitchen with Eliott and— _Fuck._

“Shit,” Lucas gasps, his face more than likely illustrating that of sheer scandal.

And Eliott actually has the audacity to _ laugh, _ like Lucas’ world hasn’t completely tipped over on its axis. _ Oh god _ , he thinks, and then, just because, _ what the fuck have I done? _

“Ah! There it is!” Eliott continues to find Lucas’ shock completely hilarious, “and he remembers.”

Yeah, like fuck Lucas remembers. He remembers kissing right in the middle of Eliott’s ex-boyfriend’s kitchen, he remembers how Eliott had ran his tongue along Lucas’ bottom lip, remembers the burning feeling of Eliott’s fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs, how Eliott had hummed into the kiss, sending vibrations straight down Lucas’ throat and unfurling throughout his entire body, a wildfire spreading beneath his ribcage, heat burning like electricity on his fingertips. And his fingertips, which had found their home firmly within the soft strands of Eliott’s hair, resting, tugging, _ aching _. The feeling had been devouring, he remembers that, vividly.

Even still, now, when Lucas really thinks about it, he can maybe still feel the tingling reminiscence of Eliott’s lips against his own. That soft but firm pressure lingering, longing to be remembered.

But along with all that comes the feeling of dread, of his stomach sinking like he’s just been submerged in quicksand, his body descending under thick, sticky liquid as the realisation of what he has done sets in place. The walls of Lucas’ mind almost collapse, then, panic rumbling through his brain in shockwaves, the only thing stopping complete annihilation being the solid presence of Eliott’s hand in his, grounding him back to earth.

Lucas had always thought, if the slightest possibility, even the microscopic chance of him kissing Eliott were to ever occur it would feel like nothing on earth— like asteroids colliding in galaxies above in an explosion of sparks and stardust. It would be a feeling like no other. A feeling so sensational and unfathomable because it’s all he’s ever wanted, all Lucas has ever dreamed about.

Eliott is the only person Lucas has truly ever wanted to kiss. And he hates to admit it, but even when kissing or sleeping with other guys, most of the time all Lucas is thinking about is Eliott.

_ I wonder if Eliott would bite my lip like that, he probably would, but he’d do it softer, he’d be gentle about it. _ He’ll think, _ I wonder if Eliott would grip my hips like that, I bet the pressure would feel so much better under Eliott’s hands. _

It’s incessant in that sense, unsettling.

Right now, though, Lucas doesn’t feel alleviated in the slightest. He’s not really sure what to say, he’s stunned, mostly, doesn’t know what to do at all. He’s clearly way beyond being able to exhibit any semblance of rationality in the slightest, but he supposes that just what you get for drinking yourself silly.

“Yeah I remember,” Lucas settles on saying, because it’s the safest thing he can think of, and he doesn’t really trust his voice enough to say anything more.

Eliott is chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes wandering around the room, landing on every surface and object bar Lucas. It’s unnerving, the pauses he’s deciding to take between his responses, as if he’s nervous, as if he’s walking on eggshells.

“I think it kind of worked,” Eliott eventually speaks. He glances back to Lucas again, his hair dishevelled against the pillowcase, the sun filtering in through the window behind Lucas and painting his face in sharp shades of golden.

Not for the first time in the past twelve hours or so, Lucas’ stomach drops, the nausea that had been intermittently teasing him churning at an alarming rate. He swallows thickly, willing the feeling of disappointment to ease down.

“Oh,” he tries his best to appear nonchalant, tries to keep his voice casual, “so you’re back together?”

Eliott shakes his head, “No, no.” Lucas actively ignores the relief that overcomes him. _ He isn’t yours to feel jealous over, _ the logical part of his brain reminds him. “But Marco’s been texting me about it. A lot of people saw.” Lucas fucking bets, it had escalated into something pretty heated fairly quickly, anyone who _ didn’t see _must have been on a whole other planet.

“What’s he saying?”

“Just asking whether I’m into you now and stuff, like since when—” Eliott cuts himself off, his eyes fixated on the area behind Lucas’ head and his hand fluttering up to tug at his bottom lip.

“What did you tell him?” Lucas asks, because he has a death wish, clearly. And maybe a small part of him wants to let himself believe Eliott’s visible apprehension is due to nerves, wants to pin it down to _ maybe he is into me now, maybe the kiss made him realise things, maybe he’s loved me all along. _

“I haven’t responded yet,” Eliott admits, falling silent for another few moments before eventually huffing out a breath. His eyes snap back to Lucas. “Okay, so I’m gonna ask you something, and you can totally say no, because it’s just an idea. But I really think it could work, since Marco’s already acting clingy after us just kissing, but again, there’s no pressure, it could be really dumb. I don’t know—”

“Eliott,” Lucas cuts his insufferable ranting off, “What are you saying?”

Eliott takes another breath, “Do you think we could do it again, but like, for longer. Pretend to be together, I mean.”

That’s— that’s _ not _ what Lucas had expected. In the slightest. But it wouldn’t be the first time in the past twenty four hours Eliott has thrown a ticking time bomb into his hands. It’s faint but persistent countdown deafening, unnerving. _ Tick, tick, tick. _ The incessant reminder that these kinds of things never have a good outcome (Lucas has _ seen _those kinds of movies, several times). And Lucas is just left stunned, stuck between diffusing the loose cannon so he can make it out the other end alive, and just watching it count down to zero. To see if it will explode in his palms, his world combusting, or if he’ll be met with an edge cutting muteness, maybe. Silence.

Lucas freezes, his eyebrows knitting together, “You want us to fake date?”

Eliott chuckles, lightly, untangling his hand from Lucas’ to run a thumb along his forehead. “You’re going to get premature wrinkles if you keep frowning at me like that,” he says, like the master of deflection he is, or that they both are, probably.

The sudden loss of Eliott’s hand in his shouldn’t feel as disheartening as it does, but at the same time he’s thankful for the space. He ignores Eliott’s comment with a blasé look, says, “_ Eliott _.”

Eliott deflates. “Never mind. It’s a bad idea, sorry.”

In hindsight, this should have been the point in the conversation where Lucas agrees, because Eliott is absolutely right, it is diabolically the worst idea he’s ever had. But once again, Lucas lacks the ability to function as a normal human being around him, hence, “No, it’s not.”

“What?” Eliott looks taken aback.

Lucas sighs, “You—you really like Marco, don’t you?”

He nods, it only marginally crushes Lucas’ heart. _ Be happy for him. _

“What would this entail then?” Lucas regrettably asks, “Us pretend dating?”

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

Eliott purses his lips, “I haven’t really thought about it. I guess it would be a bit like last night, you know, kissing, holding hands, the kinds of things couples do.” Lucas only laughs because otherwise the clench in his throat would probably escape as a sob, or a whimper. Something mortifying.

He contemplates the offer, tries to weigh up the pros and cons. By agreeing what would Lucas gain from this, really, sure, he’d get to kiss Eliott, he’d get to hold his hand in public, _ and _ rub it in Marco’s face in the process. But _ really, truly, _what will he achieve? A broken heart, most likely, when Eliott inevitably drops him to get back with Marco.

Because that’s the end goal, isn’t it?

So, in the end, Lucas doesn’t really know why he agrees, if you asked him why he probably wouldn’t even be able to give you an answer other than his heart feels too much.

“Alright, then.”

Eliott’s eyes widen slightly. “Alright?”

Lucas nods. “Yeah. I mean, it’s no big deal, right? We go to a few parties and kiss or whatever. Like you said, Marco is already sweating it, less than two weeks max, no?”

“I hope so.”

Ignoring, again, the tiny stabbings at his heart, Lucas lifts his head to rest on his palm. Eliott still looks softly stunning beside him. “Well, we need terms then.” He’s not sure when it became his role to negotiate the planning of said terrible idea, but, here they are.

“Yeah,” Eliott rolls onto his back, crossing his arms over his chest above the duvet, “We can’t tell anyone about it, word will find its way around. It’s too risky.”

Lucas frowns, “Not even the guys?”

“_ Especially _ not the guys. No offence, but Basile can’t keep a secret for shit.”

“None taken,” Lucas chuckles, falling back into the sheets. “So what do we tell people then? We can’t just start dating out of nowhere.”

Eliott makes a vague gesture with his hand, “We just say it’s been manifesting for a while, you know, friends gone lovers or something. People eat that shit up, trust me.”

_ Too right _ , Lucas thinks, _ if only you knew the half of it _. Eliott turns his head to look at Lucas then, waiting for his approval, or dismissal. Lucas purses his lips. “And what about when Marco wants you back, what do we do then? Fake a breakup?”

It’s an indispensable question, something that desperately needs to be set in stone. Because realising you’re in love with your childhood best friend but then breaking your neck to get back with your ex soon after isn’t exactly normal behaviour. It definitely isn’t something Eliott would ever do, either.

“I don’t know,” Eliott pauses briefly, “Fuck, this seems so much easier in the movies. Maybe we should just cross that bridge when we come to it.”

They’re playing a dangerous game, here, Lucas thinks, toeing on hazardous territory. Lucas is fully expecting Eliott to bring fire into the ring next, may as well raise the stakes— suspend Lucas’ heart from a three thousand foot tightrope, wait for it to fall off and then cheer as it splatters to the floor.

Lucas wants to tell Eliott they _ should _ be thinking of these things, this isn’t a high school mock exam that they can just waltz into with no preparation. They can’t just wing it and guess as they go along, hoping for the best that no one gets hurt and everything turns out okay.

But that would insinuate that Lucas is thinking about it _ too _ much. He is. That’s not the point. The point is that Lucas can’t have Eliott thinking he’s worried about getting his heart broken, that this has to mean anything other than one friend helping another friend out. No strings attached, strictly platonic, meaningless, _ pretend _.

So Lucas shuts his mouth and he nods, “Yeah, okay then.”

Eliott exhales sharply. “Fuck, so we’re really doing this then?” he says, “Do I have to formally ask you to be my pretend boyfriend now? Is there a system for this?”

Lucas flicks him on the nose, smiling when Eliott scrunches his face in response_ . _ “Of course not, you dumbass.”

“Okay, you have to promise you won’t fall in love with me though,” Eliott teases.

_ I already am in love with you, _Lucas thinks, his heart thudding a terrifying rhythm in his chest that makes him feel lightheaded, as if Eliott has the power of telepathy and is somehow able to read his thoughts.

“You wish,” Lucas sticks his tongue out a little childishly instead. _ Deflect, deflect, deflect _. If only Eliott knew how deep his words cut, how far gone Lucas already is, how gravely his heart already aches for it.

Eliott hums, faux unconvinced, “I know it may be hard for you, you know, with my staggering looks and ten out of ten personality and everything.” He rises onto his elbow, grinning devilishly down at Lucas, “I’ll understand if you can’t contain yourself. So, I’ll give you a safe word. Daffodil. Just in case.”

Lucas squints. “Daffodil?”

“Daffodil.”

Lucas chuckles at Eliott’s assertiveness. So they really are doing this, then, Lucas isn’t sure whether he should be terrified or excited at the prospect of being Eliott’s boyfriend. Or, you know, fake boyfriend.

_ Details. _

“Are you sure you’re okay to do this?” Eliott asks then, his wicked smile fading into a twisted look.

_ Deflect, deflect, deflect, _Lucas reminds himself.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

Eliott shrugs, “Just making sure.” His voice is a lot more weighted next, his eyes lacing sincerity, “And I’m serious, if at any time you get sick of it and want to stop, just tell me. I won’t take offense.”

“I know,” Lucas says, not expecting his voice to come out so quietly.

He knows Eliott would never intentionally hurt him, Eliott wouldn’t harm a fly. If Lucas gets his heart broken it’s entirely his own fault, really. Because he doesn’t _ have _ to do this, Eliott isn’t forcing him, nobody’s forcing him. It’s his own choice. So he’ll take full responsibility for any repercussions, although, he highly doubts there will be any. He’s been existing with these feelings for Eliott for _ years _ now and Yann is still the only person to know. He’s good at pretending.

Which strikes his next thought, the dreaded realisation that Yann _ knows, _and is more than likely to say some unfavorable things that could put Lucas in an extremely undesirable position when he finds out.

Lucas can just picture it: _ finally, you know, Eliott, Lucas has been fawning over you like a lovesick puppy for years! I told him you’d feel the same. I knew you two would get together eventually. Did I mention the fact that Lucas told me he’s in love with you? _

And, yeah, Lucas can’t have that. Absolutely not. He’ll need to speak to him before Eliott does and things go to shit really fast.

He glances at the clock on his bedside table, noting the considerable jump in time and deciding he should probably start getting ready for work. He tells Eliott as such, who lets out an exasperated groan. “Can I stay here, please? I’m so tired.”

The way Eliott buries himself into Lucas’ covers is hands down the most adorable thing Lucas has ever seen, his heart physically melts. He rolls his eyes, forcing himself out of bed. “Knock yourself out.”

Eliott hums, satisfied, pulling Lucas’ duvet entirely over his shoulders and letting his eyes fall shut. And Lucas doesn’t, _ he doesn’t _ , stand with his hand hovering over the door handle watching the gentle rise and fall of Eliott’s breathing under the covers. He _ doesn’t _smile to himself at the adorable furrow between Eliott’s eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips as he tucks his nose into the material of the pillow.

_ He doesn’t. _

Lucas gets ready for work on autopilot, his mind racing like crazy. And once the apartment door clicks shut behind him, he lets out a strained breath that he hadn’t realised he had been holding in all morning.

And as soon as he’s on the bus, admittedly, twenty minutes earlier than necessary, because his chest couldn't have handled another torturous second of thumping as he lay next to Eliott in bed, he pulls out his phone to send Yann a text.

_ Hey, I really need to talk to you, _ he types a little desperately _ , please don’t say anything to Eliott about last night or if Eliott tells you anything please just go along with it. I’ll explain everything later. _

As Lucas hits send, he rests his pounding forehead against the cool glass of the bus window with a sigh, and he _ really _ hopes Yann has the decency to keep his mouth shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr - [@lumierelovers](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/)  
comments and kudos are kindly appreciated!! thank u for reading!! new chapter soon :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lucas’ like: chill my dudes i got this (he don’t got this)

The simple memory of the first time Lucas came out is etched vividly into his mind, the prominence of it carved intricately, softly. 

He remembers it so clearly. He was fifteen, he and Eliott had just raced up the steepest hill in the park near their houses. Realistically, it wasn’t that high of a trek, but it was still precipitous enough to have them panting out strained breaths and collapsing to the ground upon reaching the top.

The sun had just begun to set, gold painting the sky as an orange glow fell over them and warmed their skin. It was a refreshing polarity against the slight dampness of grass beneath them. And as they lay side-by-side, Lucas remembers the distinct feeling of Eliott’s patent nerves emitting like a wildfire next to him as he searched for Lucas’ hand.

_ “Are you okay?” Lucas breaks the silence between them. _

_ Eliott hums, lacing his fingers with Lucas’ and letting them fall onto his chest, every so often running his thumb along the back of Lucas’ hand, leaving internal trails of fire in his path. He’s silent for a few more moments before speaking again, barely a whisper. _

_ “Do you know what pansexual means?” _

_ Curiously, Lucas watches Eliott’s side profile, “I’ve kind of heard of it, but not really. Why?” _

_ “I read about it in an article. It’s like, when you’re attracted to someone regardless of like, their sex or gender identity, is the gist of it.” _

_ “Oh.” _

_ Eliott lets out a shaky breath, finally glancing over to Lucas. “I think that’s what I am, pansexual.” _

_ “Okay,” Lucas whispers, his eyes adhered to Eliott’s, their gazes solid and unwavering as he squeezes Eliott’s hand. _ _ “Thank you for telling me.” _

_ The smile that paints itself across Eliott’s face is mesmerising, a burst of radiance Lucas wants to write sonnets about, to hang in museums, parade at the forefront of The Louvre and then ink into a summer’s sky. _

_ “I feel like that too,” Lucas murmurs next, a wave of confidence rippling within him. “I mean, with boys,” because he has felt it for a while, how he finds himself avoiding relationships with girls, how his thoughts drift to boys and strong arms and deep voices more often than not. “I think I just like boys.” _

_ Or he just likes Eliott, he doesn’t say that part out loud, though. _

_ Eliott smiles, warm and earnest. “That’s cool, Lucas. Thanks for telling me too.” _

And that was that.

Lucas smiles as he refills the muffin tray in the counter window display, reminiscing on the memory, of how nervous he and Eliott had both been in that moment. For Lucas because he’s never worried about the fact that he’s gay, he loves that part of himself; because he doesn’t care about telling people, doesn’t care who knows, but telling Eliott held that little bit more significance. Because having Eliott’s support is all Lucas had really cared about. His opinion paramount.

“Lucas, you’re going to squish all the muffins if you fuss over them anymore.” Daphné’s voice pulls Lucas from his reverie. She bats his hands away before sliding the glass door shut.

“Sorry,” Lucas mumbles, realising how zoned out he had become.

It’s eerily empty in the coffee shop Lucas works at, save for two students typing furiously on their laptops at separate tables. The quiet is unwonted for a bright Saturday morning, usually the place is thriving at this time— the thick scent of coffee overpowering everything in its path and the chatter of customers adding to the lively atmosphere. Although, it’s not like Lucas is complaining about the lack of movement or anything, it means he doesn’t have to think too much, which is especially convenient, given his mind is currently elsewhere.

Elsewhere, as in, complete Eliott overdrive.

“It’s fine,” Daphné leans against the counter, exhaling dismally. “I wish it was two o’clock already,” another sigh. “I’m meeting Elena for lunch, you see. There’s this new bagel place in… uh, I actually can’t remember where, definitely somewhere in the Latin Quarter anyway. I think… or maybe…” She trails off, eyebrows furrowing in perplexity.

Lucas lets her ramble on, it’s a common theme for them, see, for Daphné to chat about her life at an unfaltering rate for the majority of their shared shifts while Lucas passively listens. Someone a lot more with it would probably find it discernibly more annoying— having to constantly endure rants about her friendship dramas, wardrobe malfunctions, the essays she can’t keep on top of, the weekend she just spent with her girlfriend. But Lucas just finds himself thoroughly amused, it helps the time go by quicker at least.

“How are things? With you two, I mean,” Lucas asks, wiping the stickiness of icing from his fingers with a damp cloth.

Daphné’s face lights up at this. Lucas envies her, slightly, and the happiness she’s found in her relationship. Not that he isn’t pleased for her, he _ is _, tremendously so. It’s just when someone has something you’ve been aching to be able to get a taste of for so many years, when you long for something so desperately it almost becomes the predominance of your existence—as unhealthy as it sounds, almost as fundamental as your need for air— it’s a little difficult to not feel disheartened.

Lucas internally sneers at himself, thinking back to how he had mocked his professor for suggesting something along the same lines only yesterday.

“It’s amazing! Thank you for asking!” She gushes, “We were talking about maybe moving in together next year, but we aren’t too sure yet. I wouldn’t want to leave Imane, Alexia and Emma without a fourth flatmate, you know? That would be shitty, rent is extortionate enough as it is. And with Manon in London now it’s unlikely they’ll be able to find someone that’ll be completely reliable.”

Lucas nods along, pretending he’s able to keep up with the rapid speed of her words, “Yeah, how are the girls by the way?”

“Oh! They’re good. But hey! It’s been quite a while since we all got together as a group, you know, you guys and us girls. We should definitely organise something!”

He tries not to visibly wince at her enthusiasm. Not that he’s majorly hungover— he definitely deserves to feel a lot worse than he currently does after last night's antics—but his head just feels like it’s in turmoil. He feels a million things whirling about his brain that, to be honest, he _ really _ wants to pretend don’t exist.

Despite this, Lucas smiles, “Yeah that sounds good, Daph. You can think of something though, I’m no good at planning things.”

She lets out a little squeal at this, bursting with excitement at the suggestion. “Of course! I’ll text you when I speak to the girls.”

“Great,” he chuckles, “I’ll let the guys know.”

It’s an hour or so later that the chime of the café door opening has Lucas rising up from where he had been brushing some spilled coffee beans into a dustpan behind the counter. He plasters on his most exquisite customer service smile, preparing himself to be met with a stressed caffeine deprived student, but instead he finds Yann standing opposite him.

“I got your text,” Yann announces, foregoing the need for greetings and raising his eyebrows expectantly.

And right, of course. Lucas had been simultaneously trying to forget about the fact that he needs to have this conversation with Yann, while also frantically trying to think up what he’s going to say. Because what does he say? _ Hey, just letting you know Eliott and I are going to pretend to be dating for a few weeks so he can get back with his ex. It’s no big deal. Also please don’t tell him that I’m actually in love with him. _

Admittedly, those _ are _ the exact words that would explain the situation perfectly, but they also sound like the most ridiculous words that have ever entered Lucas’ brain. Thus, it _ should _ act as another red flag, should send alarm bells blaring inside of Lucas’ mind as a reminder that this is singlehandedly the dumbest thing he has ever let Eliott drag him into. Yet, Lucas doesn’t find himself wanting to back out in the slightest, which is a little scary, makes him feel somewhat worried for his own wellbeing.

Clearly he has a thing for self-destruction.

“Yeah,” Lucas sighs, “I go on break in ten minutes, if you want to wait?”

Yann nods, “Sure, I’ll take one of those muffins, though,” he points to the arrangement of chocolate treats. 

Lucas picks him out the largest one then mumbles a covert, “It’s on me,” in hopes Daphné doesn’t hear and scold him for it later.

Maybe it’ll ease the brunt of the burden he’s about to dump onto him, he hopes.

Ten minutes drag by slower than a snail’s pace, and Lucas can _ feel _ Yann’s eyes on him the entire time as he takes and prepares orders. But as soon as the clock hits twelve, Lucas is hanging his apron up on the rack and allowing Daphné to take over the till without a second glance back. He makes his way over to where Yann is sitting in one of the corner tables, dropping down opposite him.

“Hey,” he says, dragging Yann’s attention away from his phone.

“What’s up?”

Lucas glances to the painting on the wall behind Yann’s head, a particularly melodramatic scene of a ship trashing in the waves, the people on board looking panicked and frantic. Lucas has never been one to feel connected to pieces of art like this (although the occasional drawings Eliott will present to him tend to cause this strange ache in his chest, pride, maybe, mostly because they’ve been specifically done by Eliott for him, for Lucas, and to him that maybe means something. It probably doesn’t.)

But now, eyes skimming over the catastrophe of the sinking ship, Lucas feels like he can empathise. Feels like a Titanic chamber about to explode with the heavy impact of gushing water. And Yann is looking at him, a bored expression on his face because it’s been a solid forty seconds and Lucas still hasn’t said anything.

“Last night—” Lucas trails off. Yann hums. “You know what happened, right? With Eliott?”

“What happened?” Yann looks confused, Lucas sees his ears perk up slightly like he’s secretly itching to find out if there’s any notable drama to be aware of.

_ Oh God _ , Lucas thinks, _ he has no idea. _

“You didn’t see?”

Yann shakes his head. And Lucas inwardly groans, because now he has to fucking say it, has to repeat the words. He swallows thickly, “Uh. Eliott and I—We uh, we kissed.”

The last word is muffled by Lucas’ hand and his reluctance to actually let it escape into the space between them. But Yann must hear him crystal clear, because Lucas has never seen someone’s eyes jump so far out of their sockets. He almost wouldn’t be surprised if they had fallen out onto the table and splattered across the tiled floor.

“You kissed Eliott!?” he exclaims, much too piercing for the quiet of the café.

Lucas hushes him, “Not so loud, jesus, it’s not what you think.”

“What? You both got drunk and realised you couldn’t hold back anymore? It happens Lucas, it’s no big deal. Maybe now I won’t have to watch you two pine over each other like a bunch of sad puppies.”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “We do not pine over each other.” It’s besides the point. Yann looks like he’s about to intervene, but Lucas silences him again. “And like I said, it’s not what you think.”

“What do you mean?” Yann questions, fiddling with his empty muffin case, tearing it into small pieces and letting them float onto the table. Lucas watches them, his own hands itching to toy with something, nerves reeling through him.

“Eliott only asked me to kiss him because he wanted to make Marco jealous. He thinks it’ll help get him back, or something.”

_ Or something. _

The look Yann gives him is equally hilarious and terrifying, it makes Lucas want to crawl under the table out of fear of being laughed or yelled at. He’s not quite sure which one Yann is leaning more towards.

“And did you know that?” Yann finally speaks, “Did you know before he kissed you it was for that reason.”

Lucas looks to the table again, thinks with his eyes downcast it maybe doesn’t feel as daunting explaining the situation to Yann. He nods once, “Yeah, I knew.”

Yann drops his face into his hands with a groan. “Lucas, what the fuck?”

And Lucas is only partially scared for his life, because he hasn’t even told Yann the worst part yet. He nudges Yann’s shin with his foot, “Hey, it’s not a big deal.”

Yann drops his hands, tilting his head to look at Lucas pointedly, “Oh no?”

“No.” Lucas shakes his head stubbornly.

“So the text you sent, when you told me to go along with whatever Eliott tells me, what did you mean by that?”

Lucas nibbles on his bottom lip, glancing over to the old rickety clock above the café door. He notes that he still has fifteen minutes of his break left and there is no way in hell he’s going to be able to wiggle himself out of the conversation at this point. So he sighs, and he takes the final leap of faith from the sinking ship into the furious ocean.

“Eliott asked if we could pretend to be together for a while, to help him get back together with Marco.”

This time, Yann’s face is the epitome of impassive, looks a lot like he’s stuck between slapping Lucas over the back of the head and standing up to leave. Lucas wouldn’t really blame him, either way, instead he only sighs.

”And you agreed?” Lucas nods. “You know how fucking stupid that is, right? You remember when you told me how you’re in love with Eliott? Do you think this could end well? For either of you?”

Lucas wants to remind Yann he has no right in telling Lucas what to do with his feelings. But he’s also acutely aware of the fact that Yann knows more than anyone else about this, he has that leverage over him. And even though Lucas is confident Yann would _ never _ tell _ anyone _about Lucas’ secret— because Yann isn’t like that, he keeps his word and Lucas wholeheartedly trusts him with his life. But he can’t help but feel a little vulnerable knowing that part of him is rested somewhere else, somewhere out of his control. Hates that there’s a small, infinitesimal chance it could find its way out into the world and fall right into Eliott’s hands.

Into Eliott’s hands, which have the power to completely crush Lucas’ heart in a single beat.

“You can’t tell him about that,” Lucas says, because he just has to be clear. He needs to make sure.

Yann shakes his head, the hard lines of his face softening slightly, “I would never. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I know,” Lucas whispers, feeling a little shameful that he had even slightly harboured the thought.

“So are you pretending to be dating in front of everyone or just Marco? How does this work?”

Lucas purses his lips, thinking back to his conversation with Eliott just this morning. They hadn’t really discussed it in that much depth, there’s definitely more details in need of being ironed out. But the basics they had covered, at least.

“Everyone. Eliott thinks telling people could only come back to bite us in the ass.”

Yann chuckles lightly, “Does he know you’re telling me?”

“No,” Lucas mumbles, ashamed, “and you can’t tell him that either.”

The look Yann throws him is comical.

“Yann,” Lucas pleads, “please. You can’t say anything.”

“You know, when this all goes to shit—” He starts to say. Lucas huffs out a frustrated breath.

“It won’t.”

They stare at each other, almost challengingly. Yann squints as if he’s trying to wheedle his way into Lucas’ mind and grasp his thoughts, make sense of the hurricane spiraling within his brain. _ Good luck with that _, Lucas thinks, he can’t even apprehend the mess going on up there himself. Can only just about think past the savage, unyielding winds lashing at the shore and the roof tiles thrashing from the walls of his mind. Shattering and spinning. Furious and terrifying.

“Look,” Yann sighs in surrender, “I’m not here to tell you what to do, I’m not your mother. But as your _ friend _, I just need to make sure you know how dumb this is. The last thing I want is to see you get hurt.”

Lucas frowns, he _ does _ know it’s dumb. It’s already all he can’t think about. But he knows Eliott, and he knows their friendship. He knows it like the back of his hand, all their secrets and memories engraved into his skin. Permanent reminders of happy, carefree days and tougher, draining ones. Of sleepless nights spent confessing internal struggles within the safe haven of Eliott’s treehouse. They know things about each other nobody else does, they understand each other, they _ trust _ each other. “Eliott would never hurt me.”

“Not intentionally, no. But he doesn’t know how you feel, Lu.”

He’s right. And maybe it’s neighbouring on selfish on Lucas’ part, how he’s allowing himself to fall into this—this _ thing _with Eliott. All while Eliott is completely oblivious to Lucas’ true feelings. Maybe it’s self-serving of him to kiss Eliott and tell people Eliott is his when Eliott is ignorant to the fact that Lucas is completely in love with him. Maybe that’s inconsiderate, reckless, perhaps. Because in that way Eliott has no say. If Eliott was aware of Lucas’ feelings there’s no chance on earth he would suggest they do this, he wouldn’t even entertain the possibility. And Eliott isn’t his, never will be.

So it is selfish, because to Eliott this is meaningless, there are no emotions attached, no deeper sentiment. But to Lucas, being able to kiss Eliott is the world—which is the most dangerous part, because it shouldn’t mean anything, it shouldn’t hold that weight.

But it still means everything. Stupidly so.

“I’ll be okay,” Lucas says sincerely. He only half believes his own words.

*****

“Lucas! You have to at least look like you want to be _ somewhat _ near me,” Eliott is whining, moving his phone away from their faces to glare at Lucas.

They’re in Eliott’s apartment, more specifically his bedroom. Since Idriss and Sofiane are both home and, admittedly, trying to negotiate the logistics of a fake couple selfie in the presence of others is for one, embarrassing, and two, the first dead giveaway that they are, in fact, not in a real relationship.

“What do you want me to do? I _ am _ smiling, _ look. _” Lucas throws Eliott his most exaggerated grin, boyish and toothy. Eliott doesn’t seem impressed.

He scrunches his eyebrows together. “No, don't smile. Just look happy.”

Lucas squints, “I’m pretty sure smiling equals happy.”

Eliott just seems more annoyed by Lucas’ inability to grasp and follow his directions. He sits up, leaving Lucas lying stomach down on the bed by himself. Lucas follows the movement over his shoulder.

“I mean smitten happy, you know? Like you want to jump my bones.”

And fuck, this is really going to be the death of Lucas, isn’t it? There’s no coming back from this level of self-sabotage.

Lucas raises his eyebrows, puffing out an amused breath, a little affronted and taken aback. “You think I wanna jump your bones?”

He does, he doesn’t say it.

Eliott just rolls his eyes, clearly over it. “Come here,” he demands, “I’ll show you.”

Cautiously, Lucas sits up as well, staring at Eliott who is sitting against his headboard, holding his arms out. Lucas crawls closer apprehensively, a bit awkwardly since he doesn’t really understand what Eliott wants from him, _ where _he wants him.

But once he’s close enough within Eliott’s reach, he’s being pulled by the waist right into Eliott’s lap. He lets out a huff at the abruptness of it, a bit breathless. Thinks he certainly has no clue what to be doing now that he’s practically straddling Eliott, who has his arms wrapped around Lucas’ waist firmly.

“Now turn,” Eliott instructs.

Lucas gulps, “Huh?”

Eliott sighs again, taking things into his own hands and practically manhandling Lucas until he’s positioned between Eliott’s legs, facing forwards with his back to Eliott’s chest. Lucas can only steady out his breathing and his rapid heartbeat so stealthily because he’s done it so many times before.

He feels Eliott rest his chin to the crook of his neck then, his face close, _ too close _. “And we take it like this,” Eliott mumbles, holding his phone up again.

Lucas studies their reflection in the front facing camera, watches how Eliott’s face fits almost perfectly into the curve of Lucas’ shoulder like the space was made just for him, how his smile is soft, his eyes shifted sideways to land on Lucas, also just as soft. Lucas swallows the thickness in his throat and does his best to mirror Eliott’s expression, to a muted down extent. Because he can’t, just _ can’t _ allow himself to lose that mask he has tried so hard over the years to paint on. Especially not in a photo for everyone and anyone to click on. A moment like that, so intimate and _ real _should be reserved for Eliott only, if he ever wanted it, if Lucas ever decides to let his walls tumble down.

Which, he won’t, obviously, anytime soon at least.

So, as Lucas smiles back, slight and gentle, he allows himself to enjoy the fleeting moment. A lightning quick second where he can pretend this is something that it’s not for just a heartbeat. Like Eliott is looking at him like he’s the most precious grace on earth for anything other than for what it really is.

A transient glimmer of wishful thinking.

“There!” Eliott exclaims, pulling away from Lucas just as quickly, the vast emptiness of it alarmingly forbidding.

Lucas crawls forward to face Eliott, feeling a lot more composed with a decent foot between them now. He clears his throat, willing his voice not to crack upon speaking. “All good?” Eliott only hums happily, smiling down at his phone and tapping away at the screen.

“You think this is the best way to do this? Telling people with an Instagram post? It’s extremely millennial of us.”

Eliott’s laugh is brighter than the sun. “I think so,” he says, “It’s easier than having to tell loads of people individually, you know? Too many questions.”

Lucas bites down onto his bottom lip, smiling teasingly, “In other words, you’re lazy.”

Eliott looks affronted by the mere suggestion, finally looking up from his phone and narrowing his eyes at Lucas. “Fuck off. It’s not lazy, it’s tactical.”

“Whatever.”

“Well I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas. So quiet please, I’m working.” He nudges Lucas’ knee with his socked foot. Lucas catches his ankle, for no reason other than just to hold it.

“What are you going to caption it?” Lucas asks, running a thumb lazily along the bones of Eliott’s ankle as he goes back to staring at his phone.

His response takes a while, too consumed in whatever he’s doing, “Uh,” He furrows his eyebrows, still not looking up, “I was just gonna put like, a heart? A red heart?”

“A red heart?” Lucas deadpans.

“Yeah,” Eliott’s eyes glance up, “What’s wrong with that?

“It’s boring.”

“It’s romantic!”

They stare at each other, testing, but Lucas is the first to break his charade with a loud cackle, because he can’t take Eliott’s fake angry eyes seriously. Never really has been able to. 

“Okay, you do you, I guess.” 

Eliott stares down at his phone, a bit hopelessly, eyebrows knitted in contemplation. “Well what else could I write?”

Lucas hums triumphantly, knowing he’s won this one. But to be honest he doesn’t really have an answer, he had only gone into this one with the intention of teasing and inducing Eliott’s captivating smile. 

”Caption it...” he screws his face up in thought, “Uh.”

It’s now Eliott who’s laughing, gleeful and ebullient. _ Beautiful _. “Oh, I See. You don’t even know.”

Lucas gives up, falling back onto Eliott’s mattress to just let him get on with it. A few minutes pass, Lucas gazes up at the ceiling, follows a few thin cracks over to the window. Eliott’s ankle is still held in his grasp, he tries to convince himself that there’s a need for it.

”Done.”

His voice causes Lucas to look back over, “What? You posted it already?” Eliott grins, nodding. Lucas turns onto his side, “What did you caption it then?”

Eliott looks down at his phone, reading the words aloud, “It says, _ him, _ with a red heart _ .” _

Of course it would take Eliott that long to come up with one word, he looks far too pleased with himself for such minor accomplishment. Lucas giggles lightly, “It’s one word more than a red heart, at least.”

”It already has,” he pauses, “twelve likes, so you can stop complaining.”

Lucas watches the small satisfied smile tugging at Eliott’s lips and feels an aching twinge in his heart. Because Eliott isn’t smiling for the reason Lucas wants him to be smiling, he’s smiling because this _ works, _ because it’s believable and it’s convenient and he _ knows _ it will have Marco crawling back to him in no time. And it shouldn’t hurt Lucas as much as it does. _ It shouldn’t _.

It’s what he signed up for, after all.

There’s a commotion of footsteps and voices travelling down the hallway then, and before Lucas knows it Eliott’s bedroom door is being flung open, Idriss and Sofiane standing in the entryway. They look frantic, mostly thrilled. 

Idriss holds up his phone, from the distance between Eliott’s bed and where his two flatmates are standing, Lucas can just about make out the selfie he and Eliott had just taken open on the Instagram app.

“Guys,” Idriss pants, pointing to the screen, “Is this what I think it is?”

The two boys share the same expression, radiating clear anticipation, but holding back slightly in disbelief. Their eyes wide and curious.

Lucas should find their enthusiasm concerning, but instead he’s just amused. He’s always had an immense appreciation for Idriss and Sofiane, how they’ve stuck by Eliott the way they have. And Lucas will admit, he was greatly relieved when Eliott had moved out of his dorm to live with the two for his second year of university, because it meant he would always have someone around that got him, that would be there for him when Lucas couldn’t—because quite frankly he’s never trusted Marco to do be able to do that.

When Eliott was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, Lucas was the first person he had told. Sixteen-year-old Eliott had been terrified foremost, but then he was telling Lucas how relieved he was, because he had been living with this cloud of uncertainty over his head for so long, and now he finally had something to define it as.

_ There’s a word for these things I’m feeling Lucas, _ Eliott had said, wet smile slapped across his face. _ I thought I was going crazy, you know? I couldn’t understand why I was acting the way I was, why I was thinking certain things. But I wasn’t going crazy. There’s other people who feel like this, too. And I just feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, you know, because I know now. I’m not crazy. I’m not. _

_ You’re not crazy, _ Lucas had mumbled back sincerely, pulling Eliott into his arms, _ you were never crazy. _ He wholeheartedly meant it, and to see Eliott in that moment—someone who had just been told they have a lifelong mental illness crying tears of happiness and relief—made Lucas feel a pride like no other. Because Eliott is hands down the strongest person Lucas has ever known.

So having Idriss and Sofiane there for him too, who are supportive and patient and kind, is everything to Lucas.

He glances over to Eliott to find him already looking right back, a private smile on his lips just for Lucas. He then shrugs once. “Maybe,” he mumbles, shyly.

By their vibrating elation, Lucas had prepared himself for a chaotic pile on of some sort, but instead he’s met with the two boys just sharing deliberate, knowing looks.

“That’s so amazing, honestly. Happy for you guys,” Sofiane says earnestly while Idriss grins like a fool.

Lucas suddenly feels a wave of guilt pool over him. He can’t quite fully grasp how effortlessly Eliott is able to just lie to his friends like that, indifferent to the fact that Sofiane and Idriss are good people who don’t deserve to be lied to. Just like everyone else they’re inevitably going to have to deceive. And Lucas _ hates _ lying, it’s something he’s always been so avidly against, hates being at the brunt end of it. So his conscience is screaming at him currently, because this feels _ wrong, _ immoral _ . _

It isn’t him, _ isn’t Eliott _.

Yet, somehow he still finds himself smiling, not that he’s able to quite meet their eyes, but he smiles nonetheless, and he keeps his mouth shut.

He thinks that’s probably the worst part.

*****

Lucas doesn’t arrive home from Eliott’s until much later that evening. It’s maybe close to midnight, but he isn’t surprised to see the guys still awake in the living room, an episode of _ That 70s Show _ playing idly on the television as they chat between themselves.

“Hey,” Lucas announces, leaning against the door frame.

Their heads snap up, chatter dwindling down until all that’s audible is a deep slow motion sequence of Eric pronouncing his love for his father while his mother drops a plate of jelly all over the floor.

Basile is the first to speak, an insinuating grin splashed across his faces. “Where you at Eliott’s?” He quirks his brows comically. Lucas wants the ground to swallow him whole, of course they’ve seen the post. But maybe Eliott had been right, perhaps it is easier this way, he doesn’t have to lie as much with actual words.

“Yeah,” Lucas mumbles, moving into the room to fall onto the sofa next to Yann, whose gaze is burning, stressful.

“So, are you two like...” Arthur nudges him with an elbow. Lucas inwardly sighs.

“I guess so.”

Lucas has never heard Arthur squeal before, but the sound that comes out of his mouth, all high-pitched and deafening, is too much for Lucas to handle this late at night.

“I knew it would happen eventually,” Basile grins.

The sentence causes something unidentifiable to churn in Lucas’ stomach. Something he can’t quite pinpoint. Panic, maybe. Worry. Something.

“You did?” He asks, because he has no self-control, clearly.

Basile shrugs simply. “Well yeah, it’s obvious. You’re always all over each other.”

Lucas wants to correct him, tell him it’s not like that, it was never like that. It’s just the way he and Eliott are with each other. But that would completely defeat the purpose of making this whole façade believable, so he snaps his mouth shut and smiles.

“Yeah, well, we don’t want to make a big deal out of it, really.” It’s a lie, they hadn’t discussed doing as such at all. But quite frankly Lucas just doesn’t feel like talking about it anymore.

Thankfully they take the hint, and instantly go back to watching the TV, Red now giving Eric the run down on the only few times it’s acceptable for him to use the words _ I love you. _

“—_ other than that, it’s just a given _ ,” he’s saying. Lucas feels like he can relate, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell Eliott he loves him in that way. But it is a given, it’s _ there _. It will always be there. Unspoken and whatnot, there nonetheless.

And it burns.

The rest of the reactions to the momentous Instagram post come in the form of Lucas’ phone dinging relentlessly while he tries to sleep later that night. He ends up silencing his notifications altogether, with the buzzing and brightening of his screen becoming too incessant in the dimness of his room.

He decides to take a flick through his texts. There’s quite a few, but the most recent from Daphné.

_ Hey Lucas! I spoke to the girls, they said they’d love to get together soon. How does next weekend sound? We could go out to a club or just do something more chill like order pizza? Whatever you guys feel like, let me know! _

_ Something chill sounds good, _Lucas texts back, not even bothering to mull it over with the guys. He’s not in the mood for another party anytime soon, he still hasn’t quite recovered from the disarray that was last night.

Daphné is quick to respond. _ Great! Also, just seen Eliott’s post. Very cute! Looking forward to hearing all about it during our next shift together! _

Lucas grimaces, Daphné’s text isn’t even the worst of them. There’s a bunch from Imane, Emma, and Alexia. The most trouncing_ , _however, is the single winking face emoji he gets from Manon. Because it’s so insinuating, yet so harmless. And it shouldn’t cause Lucas to feel so terrified, unnerved at the lack of shock from his peers, almost as if they had all been expecting it to happen eventually. Which is not helpful to Lucas’ case whatsoever, clearly he isn’t as good at masking his adoration for Eliott as he thinks he is. 

Clearly he has some work to do, on that front.

*****

A week later Lucas finds himself squished in between Emma and Alexia on the living room sofa at the girls’ apartment, some miscellaneous playlist of obscure 90s hits playing from the bluetooth speaker. All his other friends are dispersed about the room, talking idly between themselves and sipping on beers.

“How much longer did Eliott say he was going to be?” Alexia whines, “I’m _ starving _.”

Lucas checks his phone, his last text from Eliott from ten minutes ago still reads, _ be there in 5. _ He sends back a string of question marks, a plea for him to _ hurry the hell up _. Because, just, Lucas feels on edge, see.

It’s been a busy week with uni work and the extra shifts he’s taken on at the coffee shop. Things have been so hectic that he’s barely had the chance to speak with Eliott beyond texts. Which isn’t ideal, considering they’re supposed to be _ dating _now, but more realistically, Lucas just sort of misses him.

But it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing about their relationship has necessarily changed within that space of time other than the perception people have over them, the fact that they now think they’re together. But it also means they haven’t had the opportunity to talk things over, like how they’re going to navigate the whole ordeal around their friends. Truthfully, Lucas hadn’t really taken into account the fact that they can’t just flick the switch on and off whenever Marco isn’t around. They’re lying to everyone, which means they have to constantly keep up an appearance.

Which sucks for Lucas, because it means there’s no escape, really.

“I’ll run downstairs and wait, see if he needs help carrying the pizzas up,” Lucas announces to nobody in particular. He gets a few grunts of acknowledgment in response, as well as a “That’s so damn cute,” from Alexia, which he purposely ignores.

He waits on the pavement outside the building for another five minutes until he finally sees Eliott approaching in the distance, several pizza boxes stacked in his arms.

“What are you doing out here?” Eliott peers over the rim of the boxes as he reaches Lucas. “It’s freezing.”

Lucas shrugs. “Thought you might need help with those.” He nods towards the pizza boxes. Eliott smiles, distributing half of them into Lucas’ waiting arms.

“Thanks, cute of you,” Eliott grins, knocking his hip into Lucas’ as they make their way into the apartment building. Something in Lucas’ chest twists.

They’re halfway up the four flights of stairs when Lucas’ steps falter. Eliott pauses a few steps above him, furrowing his eyebrows, “Everything okay?”

Lucas sighs, “Yeah just. I also wanted to talk about this, you know, this thing we’re doing.”

Eliott walks back down the couple of steps separating them until he’s standing closer. “Of course, what about it?”

A beat of silence falls over them, Lucas looks to the floor. “We never spoke about how we’re going to do this around them.” He gestures his head in the vague direction of the apartment filled with their friends above him.

Eliott follows the movement like looking would have him find something at the other end, he glances back soon enough. “Yeah okay, we should probably discuss that. Sorry.” He chuckles lightly.

“Don’t apologise.” Lucas shakes his head, but then frowns, speaking timidly, “I hate lying to them.”

It’s a good thing he’s carrying four pizza boxes in his arms, otherwise Lucas would have nothing to hide behind while he exhibits the very furthest semblance of deflecting his feelings humanly possible. But Eliott doesn’t seem to catch onto Lucas’ evident panic. Instead, he seems unperturbed, glancing down to his own occupied hands, shifting his own pile of boxes slightly with a shake of his head before he looks up again to meet Lucas’ eyes. “The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable—”

Lucas cuts him off abruptly, “I’m not.”

“Okay,” Eliott nods, “Well we don’t need to go all over the top PDA or anything, it’s just chill.”

“Chill,” Lucas whispers.

“Chill.”

Eliott chuckles, then, “Look, I think as long as we know where each other stand, everything will be fine. This is probably one of the most ridiculous things we’ve ever done, right? We’ll probably laugh about it in a few weeks.” He shrugs nonchalant. “We shouldn’t think too much about it.”

Deciding to ignore the fact that Eliott, in truth, does not know where Lucas stands whatsoever, he grins teasingly. “I don’t know, that phase we went through a few years ago where we’d only talk to each other in our own made up language was pretty ridiculous.”

Eliott’s laugh is dazzling as he throws his head back, pretty even under the shitty stairwell lights. “You’re right,” he smiles, “that was something else.”

They resume climbing the stairs, a brief silence engulfing them until Eliott speaks again, his voice sincere. “I meant what I said last time, though. If at any time you want to stop, just let me know. I realise how shit this might be for you, you know? If you ever wanna get with someone.” He stops walking again, “And we don’t have to do this, it’s not too late to back out.”

Lucas swallows down the words that claw at his throat, that itch to tell Eliott he doesn’t want to get with anyone unless that anyone is Eliott. That would be a silly thing to do, though, instead he says, “I don’t mind.” Then forcing a smile onto his face, “I know how much Marco means to you, if I can help you be happy then of course I’d want to do that.” The words taste bitter on his tongue, _ wrong. _

_ Deflect, deflect, deflect. _

Eliott smiles, “Okay.”

Eventually, they reach the apartment door, Lucas goes to twist the handle but Eliott is quick to place a hand to his arm. Lucas looks up, an inquisitive look on his face.

“Just do whatever feels right, okay? No pressure. Natural.”

_ Natural _. Okay, Lucas can so do natural.

*****

Lucas, for the life of him, cannot do natural. It’s been two hours of his friends cooing over them and making smug comments whenever Eliott so much as wraps an arm around his waist or rests his head on Lucas’ shoulder. And it’s aggravating in a way, because to Lucas it isn’t anything out of the ordinary from how they would usually act in each other’s presence. Yet, somehow with the new defined knowledge that they’re now _ together _ , his friends seem to have taken that and ran with it. Now Lucas feels like he can’t even _ look _ in Eliott’s direction without it being pinned down as _ heart eyes _ , afraid of it looking _ too real, too much. _

He thinks, terrifyingly, _ what if Eliott starts to notice? _What if he starts to question the evident lack of surprise from their friends? Asks himself if there’s a reason they aren’t fazed? It would only be a matter of time before he catches on, Eliott isn’t stupid.

The prospect of it makes Lucas feel like he can’t breathe. He feels like he’s suffocating under their watchful gazes, the fear of Eliott finding out, the inevitability of being rejected, of making things awkward. 

_ And he’s definitely thinking too much about it again. _

“Everything okay?”

Lucas peeks up from where his head had been shoved into the back of the fridge in search of more beer. Imane is standing in the doorway, a small smile on her face.

He sighs, “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

Imane shrugs, raising her eyebrows dubiously, “Just you’ve been acting pretty quiet out there.”

Finally retrieving his beer, Lucas kicks the fridge shut with his foot. “I’m just—” He shakes his head, lost for words as he flicks the cap of his beer off with a bottle opener.

“I get it,” Imane says, moving closer, “When Sofiane and I started dating, as much as I appreciated all the support, you know, seeing the girls so excited. It was a bit much sometimes. Sometimes we just need some space, time alone to get to know each other properly, especially when something is so new.”

Lucas looks to the bottle in his hands, running his finger along the condensation that’s caused the label to corrode. He doesn’t really know what to say, she isn’t too far off, but Imane is someone Lucas has never really been able to lie to. She’s too observant, will never let anyone pull wool over her eyes. So he’s terrified one wrong word will have her seeing straight through him.

“I was shocked, you know?” She speaks again when Lucas doesn’t. He glances up, tries to figure out what she means by that. “When I heard about you two getting together. I was shocked.”

“Why?”

She shrugs, smiling slightly, “I didn’t think it would ever happen.”

It’s a first, the only response Lucas has been hearing all week is, _ I told you so, _ and, _ I knew it. _He’s not entirely sure what to make of it.

Lucas frowns, “No?”

“Nope,” she shakes her head incontrovertibly.

Lucas chuckles nervously, looking off to the side. “I don’t know what to say.”

Imane grins, shrugging. “Don’t say anything. I’m really happy for you, okay?”

There’s something to her words, something Lucas can’t quite pinpoint, something with more depth that he so desperately wants to explore. But it sounds like intimidating territory, like something from the Bermuda Triangle—a good idea to delve into at the time, to pry for more, _ why are you shocked? Why didn’t you think it would ever happen _? But in hindsight, it’s a perilous journey. There’s a looming risk that he might lose his sense of direction, lead his feelings astray.

There may be no coming back from that.

So instead he smiles, says, “Thanks. I might do that.”

“Hm?” Imane tilts her head in question.

“Get out of here,” he explains, “Get some space. With Eliott.” Because he’s _ tired _ and he needs some time to be alone, to think. Althoug, not entirely alone, maybe, he still wants Eliott’s company, albeit not in the way he truly aches for, it’s enough.

Imane’s grin flourishes as she takes in Lucas’ words, winking encouragingly. “Go for it.”

And he does.

“There’s no way you’re going to fit all of that into your mouth,” Yann is scoffing when Lucas walks back into the living room.

Basile is sitting on the floor, a pizza box of now cold leftover pizza moulded into a questionable ball on his lap. Lucas scrunches his nose as he flops down onto the sofa next to Eliott, who’s giggling brightly at their friends’ antics.

“Clearly you’re underestimating my abilities,” Basile retorts back, narrowing his eyes in challenge.

Eliott snorts, “Baz, I bet you ten euros you won’t be able to do it.”

“Ten euors!?” Basile yells, affronted. “Lucas, tell your boyfriend he’s a thief. If I’m going to do something as revolutionary as this I expect a lot more than that.” He scoffs, “Ten euros. That’s robbery.”

Arthur slaps him over the back of the head. “Dude, stop stalling and just fucking do it.”

As Basile begins to shove the mound of food into his mouth, Lucas flicks a glance over to Eliott, who’s still grinning in amusement.

Lucas captures his hand, which had been rested on the sofa between them. The touch causes Eliott to snap his head over instantly, turning his palm over to lace their fingers together. He squeezes once. _ Are you okay? _

“Can we go?” Lucas whispers, quiet enough so only Eliott can hear.

Eliott grips his hand tighter, it sends shocks of electricity through Lucas’ skin, latching onto his veins and running up his arm, sparking blazing currents in his heart. _ Burning. _

“You want to leave?” Eliott asks, eyes comforting. Lucas nods. “Okay,” Eliott smiles, warm, kind, _ understanding. _

If he thinks rationally about it, asking Eliott to come with him is unnecessary and ridiculous, because Lucas doesn’t _ need _someone to walk him home, realistically. If Lucas has had enough he can go on his own, he isn’t a child. But maybe he doesn’t want to be entirely alone right now, maybe he just wants Eliott to himself, if only for a while. Because they’ve barely seen each other all week, and the girls’ apartment is far too small for nine people, and Lucas’ mind is such a mess he thinks one more second spent in such vigorous company might just cause him to snap. Say something he’ll regret.

And that’s the last thing he wants.

With one last reassuring smile, Eliott looks away. “Hey guys, Lucas and I are gonna go,” he announces to the group. Because he’s so good, such an angel, Lucas isn’t really sure what he’s done to deserve a friend so attentive and accommodating, even when his demands are bordering on unreasonable and selfish.

Basile snaps his head up. “Already?” There’s pizza falling from his mouth onto his lap, Lucas would probably tease him for it if he didn’t feel so uneasy right now.

“Yes,” Eliott stands, pulling Lucas up with him by his hand. “Watch you don’t choke on that,” he teases, ruffling Basile’s hair and meeting Yann and Arthur in fist bumps.

Vaguely, Lucas can hear Basile splutter, followed by the laughter of Yann and Arthur. But Eliott is already tugging him towards the front door. Lucas allows himself to be dragged along pliantly, only smiling as Eliott shares quick goodbyes to the girls as they pass, not able to muster up any words.

They go back to Lucas’ apartment, it’s quiet when they enter, Lucas finally feels like he can think. He heads straight for his room, assuming Eliott will either follow him or just find something else to entertain himself with.

However, Eliott follows, of course, flopping down onto the bed next to Lucas.

”Are you okay?” Eliott whispers. They’re lying on their sides, facing each other. An incoherent murmur falls past Lucas’ lips as he nudges his nose into his pillow, feeling the soft linen against his cheek. Sudden exhaustion falls over him as he yawns weakly.

“I just wanted to be alone,” he admits.

“Oh.” An apprehensive frown falls onto Eliott’s face, “Do you want me to go?”

_ Fuck _. That’s the last thing Lucas wants, the thought of being completely alone right now sounds awful, lonely.

_ I wanted to be alone with you, _Lucas thinks, he doesn’t say it. The words play over and over in his mind, niggling at the back of his head, aching to be heard.

”No,” Lucas whispers instead, meeting Eliott’s eyes, wide and alluring. “Can you stay?”

A small smile works its way back onto Eliott’s face, faint dimples etched into his skin. It causes warmth to surge into Lucas’ bones, with how Eliott’s eyes glisten, how they radiate such a pure brightness that when Lucas tries hard enough he can just about see his own reflection in them. Or the stars, maybe, he can definitely see stars.

“Of course I’ll stay,” he says, reaching for Lucas’ waist and pulling him into a hug. It’s bone crushing and warm. Safe. Lucas thinks being wrapped up in Eliott’s embrace is probably his favourite place on earth, because it’s so familiar—from the way Eliott’s hands always soothe up and down his spine, down to the fresh mint scent of the same body wash he’s been using since he was seventeen.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Eliott speaks again, it’s gentle, not prying at all. He leaves it open, like he always does. It’s another unspoken thing they do: _ if you want to talk about it I’m here, but if you don’t, I’ll still be here. _

Lucas exhales shakily, feeling a lot less on edge now that he’s entirely engulfed within Eliott’s comforting hold. But not completely, not when all he wants is to tilt his head back and have Eliott in ways unattainable. “Not really,” he eventually murmurs into Eliott’s chest.

“That’s okay,” Eliott understands, always understanding. _ I’ll still be here. _

He feels Eliott press a chaste kiss to the top of his head. It’s fleeting, the pressure of it losing its spark between the barrier of his hair. But it’s there nonetheless. And it feels so alarmingly like a home Lucas shouldn’t be making himself feel this comfortable in, feels like a candle burning at both ends. Treacherous. 

And It’s scary, what desire can make people do. The lengths it will push us to. Lucas just hopes he hasn’t lost complete rationality, hopes he’ll be able to make it out of this wreckage alive.

Hopes he can salvage something, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so!!! i realise potentially the lack of eventfulness in this chapter, but i needed to cover all of these things first before Shit Goes Down. pray for elu hours. thank u for reading, let me know what u think <3
> 
> my tumblr is [@lumierelovers](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/) and i also have a twitter [@sebslouvre](https://mobile.twitter.com/sebslouvre) that u should follow bcs i desperately need more people to cry over elu with on there


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait! i didn’t mean for this chapter to end up being this long, so i guess you’re all gonna have to suffer the slow burn word count-wise, not necessarily time-wise though... heh (also all mistakes are my own, apologies for any typos!!)

The problem with living the greater proportion of your teenage years in an abiding state of unrequited love, is that it starts to ingrain itself into even the most negligible parts of your life.

Clichés are the worst, especially when they’re served to you on a silver platter of two hour long movies consisted of excessive pining and eventual happy endings. Unfortunately, Lucas has seen enough of these movies to know that for him, that kind of outcome is elusive, so to even entertain the hope of such would be stupid and naïve.

And he’ll admit, maybe he’s being pessimistic, maybe he’s a glass half empty kind of guy, but he’s just being _ realistic _. Somebody has to at least, in an over-romanticised world, Lucas thinks at least one neutral party is a necessity.

Or perhaps he’s the furthest thing from neutral you could possibly find. Because right now, as he watches Eliott from the other side of the room— strobe lights flickering inordinately across the faces of inconsequential people, highlighting their features in multi-coloured intervals— he’s the only person Lucas can really focus on. His presence preeminent in comparison to everyone else.

It’s just the way it is, the way it always has been with Eliott. How he overrides Lucas’ every thought, his every movement, like he’s a magnet caught on a rope. Pulling and tugging like a tide.

And Lucas isn’t even _ that _ drunk.

One upside of partying in college that Lucas is particularly fond of, is the fact that it’s never just a weekend ordeal like it was back in high school. There’s always a gathering of some sort happening somewhere. Which is how Lucas finds himself here, on a Wednesday night, in the flat of someone he only knows through a friend of a friend of Eliott’s, glaring petulantly as Marco marches in through the front door with several of his minions in tow.

But Lucas had been prepared for that, it’s the reason they’re here, after all. When Eliott caught wind of Marco attending this particular party, he had accumulated as many of their friends as he could, Lucas included, to tag along last minute.

So, here Lucas stands, back against the wall watching as Eliott throws his head back in laughter at something Idriss has just said, heedlessly pining. They make eye contact then, Lucas means to look away, to immerse himself back into his conversation with Emma and Yann, but of course he can’t. _ Of fucking course, _ because Eliott’s eyes are inexorably magnetic.

Eliott smiles, warm and bright, then motions for Lucas to come over. And Lucas will be damned if he believes his body could even _ think _ about resisting the pull. He excuses himself from his two friends, pushing his way through the crowds of people until he’s right next to Eliott.

His smile is poised, because after the emotional outburst of last week, Lucas has come to the conclusion that acting like a despondent stray is probably drawing too much attention to the fact that something is wrong. He’s only making things harder for himself by letting something that shouldn’t be a big deal become a big deal. He can’t let his emotions get too involved in this plan with Eliott.

So after much careful deliberation (admittedly, an unnecessary two weeks worth) Lucas has decided to espouse a brand new approach—he needs to act normal.

Albeit somewhat counterproductive, since acting normal in this situation means acting as Eliott’s boyfriend, like he’s madly in love with him, and that’s the exact thing he’s trying to _ avoid _ . So there’s a middle ground to be established—he’ll only go as far as matching what Eliott does, he’ll stay within the same playing field of affection. That way everything he does can be easily brushed off as just a façade, _ an act _. 

So whatever normal entitles, he’ll do that.

And Lucas can do normal, he’s been doing normal for five years now. He needs to stop overthinking things, just like Eliott had said. _ He can so do that _, he’s a veteran of masking his feelings, after all.

Eliott grasps Lucas’ forearm lightly when he approaches, slipping them both away from Idriss and Sofiane and into a more secluded corner of the flat.

“He’s here,” Eliott informs him. Lucas stares back blankly, he wants to tell Eliott he’s already hyper vigilant of the matter, but that’s not normal, it’s not unperturbed behaviour. Eliott must take his silence as confusion, as he deems it necessary to supply further clarification. “Marco’s just got here.”

Lucas nods. “We’re doing this now then?”

Surprisingly, they had actually planned things this time. Lucas had sat Eliott down and told him they needed a game plan, under the guise that they have to be prepared in order to make it as believable as possible. (Certainly not because Lucas had been internally freaking out over the prospect of kissing Eliott again.)

“Guess so.” Eliott bounces his eyebrows provocatively, preamble unnecessary, apparently, as he surges forwards and connects their lips together with no clear warning. Unlike last time, where it had started off slowly, a little tentatively, perhaps—this time it’s a full force slap across the face, a tsunami of water flooding into Lucas’ lungs leaving him breathless, and they’re _ kissing. _

Lucas doesn’t allow himself to appear too thrown off guard, however. _ Normal, _ he reminds himself as he pulls Eliott closer by his waist before he can overthink it. He allows his eyes to shut against the touch of Eliott’s hands cradling his cheeks. Eliott’s lips are warm, Lucas falls pliant under the drag of Eliott’s tongue as it slips past Lucas’ parting lips and tilts his head back, allowing Eliott to deepen the kiss if he wants. Lucas wants Eliott to take the reins, afraid of losing himself too much under the addictive swipe and pull. This way if anything gets _ too much _, Lucas maybe won’t feel as guilty.

Because all he’s doing is playing along.

A muffled hum falls into the non-existent space between them, Lucas isn’t sure who makes it, but the vibration it creates cuts deep and they’re kissing, kissing and kissing. Then Eliott pulls away slightly, Lucas’ bottom lip caught between his teeth, his thumb pressing firmly against the point of contact.

They blink their eyes open to stare at each other, Eliott’s eyes are dark against the lowlight of the room, neon painting his pale skin. The thud of music plays concurrently with Lucas’ heartbeat— heavy and loud, long, slow thumps that latch onto his pulse points and make his head feel fuzzy and light. He exhales against Eliott’s lips when his teeth let loose, expecting Eliott to extract himself fully, but he stays close, his fingers not moving any further than Lucas’ jawline and cheeks and the corner of his lips.

It’s barely anything, but it’s _ so fucking hot _ . Like the hottest thing anyone has ever done to him, he can’t _ breathe _ . And Lucas had already felt like he and Eliott were the only two people to exist within the confinement of the party, but now, with Eliott completely surrounding him, _ consuming him _ , Lucas feels like they’re the only two people to exist within the entire _ world _.

“You good?” Eliott murmurs against his lips, it takes Lucas’ a second to catch up and make sense of the words, but soon enough he’s nodding. And then, persistent and gentle, Eliott is kissing him again.

Lucas lets Eliott run his tongue over his swollen lips, lets him lick into his mouth, allows himself to get walked backwards until his back presses into the wall with a thump. The only thing keeping him sane being the grounding pressure of his fingertips digging into Eliott’s sides, reminding him of who, what and why.

That this is an act, that boyfriends making out at a party is normal, and that Eliott isn’t his real boyfriend, so he really needs to keep his thumping heart under control.

Just as Lucas is beginning to trail his hands up the length of Eliott’s back, the sound of someone clearing their throat behind them causes Lucas to pull away slightly, very reluctantly. He shifts to peek over Eliott’s shoulder and tries his hardest not to let out a groan when he sees Marco standing there. Eventually, Eliott glances over his own shoulder, hands falling away from Lucas’ face in the process. The sudden lack of warmth is ominous. Lucas wants to tackle Marco to the ground for interrupting something so _ bliss, _clearly on purpose, but he’s never been one for acts of violence, so instead he fists his hands into the material of Eliott’s t-shirt.

“Hey Eliott,” Marco greets once Eliott has fully twisted to face him. His eyes flicker over to Lucas, he nods once, curtly, “Lucas.”

“Marco,” Lucas acknowledges, just as wryly, but he doesn’t think Eliott notices as he wraps an arm around Lucas’ shoulders. Marco’s eyes follow the movement, causing a ripple of satisfaction to surge through Lucas and he smiles, _ cloying, _smug.

(Although he’s vastly aware of how stupid that probably is, he’s definitely setting himself up to look like a fool later when the inevitable happens and Marco takes Eliott back, leaving Lucas as the once hopelessly watching on.)

“So,” Marco starts, deciding to ignore Lucas’ presence, “this is all very cosy.”

Eliott speaks for the first time, “Yeah, well, it’s a really great party, isn’t it?” He directs the question to Lucas, turning his head and smiling.

It takes Lucas a second to catch up, but then he’s nodding enthusiastically, because _ the plan _ , _ stick to the plan _. “Yeah, babe.”

“How have you been?” Marco asks. Lucas wants to snarl, he’s ninety-nine percent sure Marco doesn’t give a fuck how Eliott has been doing, he’s more concerned about _ what _Eliott has been doing when it doesn’t involve him. But of course, Eliott knows this, knows exactly which strings to pull to get the reaction he wants.

For why? Well, Lucas doesn’t know, doesn’t necessarily _ want _ to know if it means the ache in his chest will only hurt even more.

Eliott grins, far too widely and way too sweetly, says, “Good, then as his eyes flit down to Lucas again, he nods slightly, “really good.” He says it softer, words muted under the blasting of music. But Marco hears it, _he was_ _meant to hear it_. “You?” Eliott questions shortly.

“Great,” Marco’s smile is stiff. He then purses his lips, smile growing sly like he _ knows _ he’s about to stir shit up. “You know, Eliott, I’m a bit shocked. I’d never have pegged you to be into the emasculate type.” He finally spares a glance at Lucas, “No offense,” then back to Eliott, “But I guess you always have been a little unpredictable, no?”

Lucas can’t help but visibly scoff at this, _ fuck indifference _ . He’s not even mad that Marco had just made a dig at the fact that _ yeah, _ maybe Lucas isn’t the most masculine of guys, maybe he enjoys having Emma paint his nails and for Imane to braid sections of his hair when it gets too long in the winter and they’re bored. Maybe he isn’t _ tall _ and _ muscular _ or spend every morning in the gym like Marco does _ , _ maybe he radiates _ cute gay energy _ , as Arthur likes to tell him. But to be honest he doesn’t care at all about what Marco thinks about that, or anyone for that matter. What _ does _ irk Lucas, however, what _ really fucking gets under his skin, _ is the subtle dig Marco makes at Eliott.

_ I guess you always have been a little unpredictable. _

And Lucas isn’t one to jump to conclusions, but it sounds pretty close to a quip at Eliott’s fluctuating moods—the moods he literally has zero control over. It’s a low blow, and it has Lucas seething. His hands fist harder into Eliott’s sides.

Although, when Lucas looks up at Eliott, his face is still polished with nonchalance. He shrugs once, small smile working its way onto his lips, “You think fragile masculinity is my type?”

Marco rolls his eyes, “Come on, Eliott. You don’t think this is out of character for you? You were always the one telling me how you two are just friends, that I have nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe I lied.”

Lucas’ stomach twists, feels only moderately uncomfortable at the fact that Marco has questioned Eliott about their relationship before, has maybe seen in Lucas what all of his friends have. His feet itch to leave the conversation, something telling him he shouldn’t be overhearing this stuff, _ it’s private, _ it should be between Marco and Eliott. And he has to try exceptionally hard to remind himself that Eliott doesn’t mean it, he _ doesn’t _.

He’s being tactical, _ smart _.

When Marco only scoffs in response, Eliott continues, “Plus, you _ don’t _ have anything to worry about. It’s none of your business what I do anymore, you broke up with me, remember?”

Confusion spreads over Lucas at Eliott’s words, because if he was in Marco’s position right now, hearing this would be enough to get him to back off and never look back. It would be a clear cut indication that Eliott isn’t interested. Although, Lucas also knows that Eliott is aware of what he’s saying and its implications, he knows what will get Marco riled up and dripping in jealousy.

_ Eliott knows what he’s doing, you’re just playing along. _

Marco chuckles bitterly, “So you keep reminding me.” He looks like he wants to say more, but instead shakes his head, clearly threatened, “Well, I hope you two are very happy together.” It’s forced, sarcastic even.

Lucas bites back the string of unpleasant remarks that sit at the tip of his tongue. Why is he helping Eliott get back with this asshole again? Why is he giving Marco the chance to break his heart all over again?

As Marco walks away, he hears Eliott sigh as he turns to face him again. “Sorry for what he said about you.”

“I don’t give a fuck what he thinks about me.”_ What he said about you was so much worse, why are you apologising on his behalf? _ Lucas wants to say. _ Why do you want him back? _

Lucas hesitates before his brain catches onto a thought and his mouth decides to betray him, “Why do you let him speak to you that way?” Because Lucas knows Eliott, he’s no feeble opponent, there’s no way the Eliott Lucas knows would stand for a comment like that being thrown at him.

“He doesn’t mean it, he’s jealous.” Eliott looks like he wants to elaborate, his lips parting then snapping shut again, the moment falling short. “Shall we just stick to this plan?”

Lucas waits a few beats, tries to read Eliott’s thoughts but gets lost in the creases of his forehead and the downturn of his lips. So instead he nods, “Yeah.” Because they do have a plan to stick to, for Lucas to back out now would suggest something is off, and that isn’t acting normal.

So Lucas lets Eliott kiss him again, he lets Eliott kiss him for practically the remainder of the party, he almost forgets his bearings for the duration of it, completely forgets that he’d left his beer with Yann, that he’d promised Basile a game of beer pong and that Marco is probably watching them. He’s surprised his poor hammering heart survives the rush of it for so long.

When Lucas arrives home, it’s around two in the morning and his lips feel raw. He falls onto his bed, thinking of how Eliott’s lips had felt pressed against his own, how he can still feel the residue of tingling on his skin, fingertip shaped scars engraved into his cheeks. He feels a swirl in his stomach, the pulsating throb he had miraculously managed to keep at bay the entire night thrashing to the surface. Now it’s prominent. Lucas clenches his eyes shut and exhales heavily, because he will _ not _ think about that, here, like this about Eliott kissing him—his best friend. _ He won’t _. He’s gone five years without having to resort to that and he isn’t about to start now.

_ Lucas won’t. _

He won’t think about the way Eliott had pulled him closer by the hips, or the hot breaths he panted into Lucas’ mouth upon every separation. Lucas doesn’t think about how Eliott’s hands had felt on his cheeks, or how his tongue had felt intertwining with Lucas’ own, the sensitive bite of his lips, the quivering drag of his moans.

_ He won’t. _

When Lucas comes thinking of how Eliott had pressed a thumb to the wet parting of his lips, a firm but gentle pressure, he hadn’t even realised he had started to palm himself through his jeans. He shudders out a heavy breath, kneading himself through it as his teeth clench onto his bottom lip. When he closes his eyes, it almost feels like he’s back at the party, and it’s Eliott’s teeth and lips and hands still touching him everywhere.

“Fuck,” Lucas pants, staring blankly up at his shadowed ceiling, his lids heavy and his breathing irregular.

So much for acting normal.

*****

It goes like that for a while. Eliott drags Lucas to a new party every couple of nights and they do something disgustingly coupley like make out or dance together. It almost becomes a routine: how they’ll be all over each other for that small three hour window, then when it’s over far too soon for Lucas’ liking, they’ll go their separate ways home. It’s manageable, Lucas is surviving. But somehow, _ somehow _ as soon as Lucas arrives home, the minute he shuts his bedroom door and the s _ econd _ he falls onto his bed, the memory of Eliott’s lips and hands as they kiss and grind on the dance floor are inescapable, and the only thing that can fend them off is to find a release.

So Lucas goes home, and he lets himself indulge in the memory of it.

And he isn’t proud of it, it’s a bit embarrassing, actually, but it’s enough to get him through, to stop the persistent niggling at the back of his head. Maybe it makes it a little harder to look Eliott in the eye sometimes, knowing where his own thoughts have ventured. But it’s the only thing keeping him from cracking, Lucas thinks. Because kissing Eliott, having Eliott all over him is _ frustrating, _ Lucas has to force himself to hold back since there’s clearly a boundary there, since it’s not actually real.

Don’t get him wrong, he’d love to arch into Eliott’s hold as he licks into his mouth, he’d die to let out the moans he has to use everything in him to swallow down when Eliott so much as tugs on the hair at the nape of his neck.

_ But he can’t _. He can’t touch and he can’t feel like he wants to, he can’t make things progress further like he aches to.

So Lucas makes do with what he can get. Sometimes, after the adrenaline and the alcohol in his blood have simmered down, once he’s lying alone in his bed in the aftermath, with the thoughts of Eliott and Eliott’s mouth in the places it’s been and the places it _ could have been _still lingering, Lucas can’t help but experience the throat cutting dread. The guilt that sits like gasoline in his gut, no more than a single spark needed to set it ablaze. The flames burn Lucas from the inside out, leaving just a shell in its wake, the outline of a person. But somehow, Eliott fills the void, he’s the reason for the gaping hole in Lucas’ heart, the reason for the tightness in his throat, but somehow, it’s okay.

Because the longer it goes on the guilt becomes less frequent and softer in duration. It still cuts deep, but instead of wallowing in it, Lucas just does, it unfolds into a familiar kind of groove.

That’s the worst thing about it, Lucas has decided—the fact that he’s maybe become too comfortable with using Eliott for his own benefit. But then Lucas’ thoughts will drift to _ well, aren’t we using each other, then? _ Because in a way, Eliott is using Lucas too, not that he objects in any way, he’s happy to play along with whatever they’re doing. It’s that thought that keeps him going, and it’s an ugly mind set to be in, _ well he’s using me too, so it’s okay for me to do this, there’s no way Eliott will find out. _But he doesn’t allow himself to overthink it too much, that’s when things get complicated, when he makes it into a bigger deal than it has to be.

On top of that, Lucas has no idea how things with Marco are progressing, whether this thing they’re doing is actually working. Because Eliott never talks about it and Lucas doesn’t ask. The key is just to do what Eliott needs him to do and deal with the consequences of that _ alone, _when it’s safe and appropriate, when there’s no way anyone will find out. That’s how he’s getting through it.

But just about.

“Baby, you’ve got ketchup on your cheek,” Eliott mumbles. Lucas looks up from the burger he has his mouth enclosed around, a muffled grunt the only noise he’s able to suffice in response.

Eliott laughs, using his thumb to swipe the smudge from Lucas’ cheek before pressing the pad of his thumb to his own lips to lick it off. Lucas rolls his eyes and tries not to blush.

They’re at some 50s inspired diner, he has Eliott to one side of him and Basile to the other, Yann and Arthur in front of them in the booth.

“How do you two manage to be disgusting _ and _ cute at the same time?” Arthur grumbles around a mouthful of fries.

Eliott slings an arm around Lucas’ shoulders. “You mean just cute.” He presses a quick peck to Lucas’ cheek, smiling sweetly down at him.

Basile groans, “You know, I’m really happy for you guys and everything, but we’re trying to eat. Stop being so in love.”

Lucas almost chokes on his burger, but Eliott doesn’t seem fazed as he grins even wider, a playful glint in his eyes. And _ okay _ , so they’re playing _ that _game then, Lucas can so do that.

“You’re cute,” he turns to Eliott, mumbling fondly.

Eliott’s smile only grows. “Nope,” he shakes his head, “you’re cuter.”

He deliberately ignores Yann’s stare from across the table, and unlike the last time, Lucas finds himself falling into a back and forth with Eliott a lot more effortlessly. He isn’t sure whether it’s to do with the fact that there are less people around this time, or if it’s because he has decided to completely stop overthinking things, or because he’s been able to rid himself of a degree of pent up frustration. (which, to make clear, he is _ not _ thinking about, like whatsoever).

Either way, it’s nice, fun almost.

He leans into Eliott’s side, tilting his head back as if to ask for a kiss. Eliott obliges with no hesitation, just like it’s _ that fucking easy _. Lucas' mind feels a little disorientated, but he isn’t overthinking things anymore, he isn’t. So he smiles when Eliott pecks him on the lips, one, two, three times, finishing with a single kiss on the tip of his nose. Lucas scrunches it in response, giggling softly.

“Enough!” Basile clanks his fork against the table, which only causes them both to laugh.

“Baz you’re just jealous,” Lucas teases, stealing a fry from his plate even though he still has an entire pile of his own, bouncing his eyebrows, “because my boyfriend is so hot.”

He doesn’t know where the sudden assertiveness sprouts from, but a small part of him is enjoying it, how Eliott squirms slightly under it.

“Baby,” Eliott bites his bottom lip as he smiles, quietly bashful.

Lucas hears Basile sigh again from beside him, but his brain tunes it out, because it’s the second time Eliott has called him baby today and the word makes Lucas’ stomach flutter.

They mutually decide to give Basile a break for now, and for a while the conversation around the table floats mindlessly. Nothing of relevant significance really surfaces until Arthur perks up, almost choking on his drink as he rushes to form a sentence that’s so abrupt it causes the four other boys to jump slightly.

“Did you guys hear about the neon party?” His words are half-spluttered, half-yelled.

Eliott seems to find Arthur’s outburst hilarious. Lucas watches as he leans over the table in hysterics while Arthur narrows his eyes at him, and concludes that they are in fact, both idiots.

“The what?” Yann elbows Arthur in the side to get his attention.

Arthur breaks away from the glare he had fixed on Eliott. “The neon party,” he insists, his expression animated with excitement, “at Jacob’s parent’s place, which is basically a mansion by the way, because they're like, filthy rich and went away to Dubai for the week or something.”

Lucas pushes his empty plate further into the middle of the table so he can rest his elbows on it. “Who’s Jacob?” he asks, because not once has he ever heard Arthur talk about a rich friend named Jacob.

He gets a disgruntled face in response, “Jacob! My friend from camp volunteering? I told you guys about him!”

Lucas shakes his head, “You definitely didn’t.”

It’s Yann who interjects next, “You have friends that aren’t us?” he quips, “sounds fake.” That earns him another one of Arthur’s death glares, and another cackle from Eliott, who seems to be in a particularly chirpy mood today. Lucas glances over to him, smiling in question. But it isn’t enough to elicit an explanation, maybe Lucas isn’t as good at speaking with his eyes as he thinks he is, as Eliott only grins back at him, eyes bright and happy. And _ fuck, _ it’s the most stunning thing Lucas has ever seen.

“Fuck you guys,” Arthur is saying next, pulling Lucas’ eyes away from the metaphorical, and literal sun beside him. “Are you coming or not? He needs to know numbers.”

“Yeah I’m in,” Basile chimes, “But what exactly is a neon party?”

Arthur rolls his eyes, speaking to no one in particular. “Is he serious?”

“What!? I’ve never been to one!”

Vaguely, in his peripheral vision, Lucas sees Eliott drop his face into his hands in another spurt of laughter. Giggles tumble from his lips in such a heavenly melody that Lucas feels like he could get high off the sound of it alone, probably.

Yann throws the wrapper of his straw at Basile’s face. “The clue is in the name, you idiot.”

Lucas forces himself to look at Basile, “It’s just a normal party only you show up wearing neon clothes or paint.”

“What’s the point in that? Just throw a normal party, why would he want to get paint everywhere?”

Eliott finally composes himself and looks over Lucas’ head to address Basile. “They’re rich, does it matter?”

“Yeah,” Lucas chuckles, “If it gets messy they’ll probably just throw the house away and get a new one.” It makes Eliott laugh too, Lucas relishes in the sound again, leaning a little into the other boy, brushing it off as his own laughter keeling him to the side.

Basile raises his eyebrows slightly, “They’d do that?”

“Obviously not!” Arthur whines. “Guys, I’m serious. Are you going or not?”

“Yes, we’re all going. It’ll be fun, no?” Eliott directs the question at Lucas for some reason, it’s only slightly odd, Lucas was never against the idea in the first place, but he nods anyway. 

Yann agrees as well, and Basile makes another comment that lacks brain cells, so Lucas sighs. “I have to pee,” he announces, poking at Eliott’s arm until he stands to let him climb out of the booth. 

Once he’s, instead, very ungracefully climbed over Eliott’s lap—because the dumbass had complained he was too full to stand up—Lucas crosses the diner and finds himself in one of two toilet stalls. A minute later, when he unclicks the lock and steps out into the main bathroom area, he almost jumps out of his own skin when he sees Yann leaning against the sinks in front of him.

“Fuck,” Lucas breathes with a hand to his pounding heart. “What are you a ninja? I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“What the fuck was that?” Is all Yann says, expression solemn.

“Hm?” Lucas plays dumb, moving to begin washing his hands at the sinks. Yann turns around with him, narrowing his eyes through the mirror.

“Don’t be annoying. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Lucas twists the faucet to adjust the temperature, mainly to have something else to focus on other than Yann’s kind of terrifying stare.

“Not really,” he lies. He knows exactly what Yann is talking about, the thing with Eliott. He’s talking about the way they had acted back out in the diner, the flirting and the pet names and the kissing. He’s thinking that Lucas is being an idiot, which is only partially true.

Steadily, Yann exhales with two hands pressed firmly into the granite of the bathroom sink, before speaking calmly. “You don’t need to do all of that around us, you know. You could tell Basile he was part gorilla and he’d believe you. Isn’t this only supposed to be helping Eliott get back with Marco?”

“Technically, Basile could be considered part gorilla,” Lucas tells Yann, “You know, with evolution and all that being—”

“_ Lucas _,” Yann interrupts his deflecting rambling, “why are you doing this to yourself?”

Turning off the tap so he can face Yann, Lucas tries not to get too agitated. He knows Yann means well and is only looking out for him. But Lucas can’t help but feel irritated, because _ they’ve already been over this _ , Lucas knows what he’s doing is reckless and dumb, he doesn’t need Yann as a constant reminder of that every single time he hangs out with Eliott around them—which is a lot, so Lucas really, _ really _ doesn’t need that.

“I’m not doing anything to myself, I told you. Everything is fine, people will get suspicious if we only act like a couple when Marco is around, that’s all.”

Yann sighs, “And what’s Eliott saying about all of this?”

Not much, Lucas thinks, Eliott doesn’t say much to be honest, he’s more of a just do kind of person. But telling Yann that would only cause his glare to darken, and Lucas already feels like a small child under his gaze enough as it is.

“The same,” Lucas shrugs, “We’ve spoken about it, we know where the boundaries lie. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“Except you don’t know where the boundaries lie, because he doesn’t know how you really feel,” Lucas’ head snaps around to the toilet stalls at Yann’s words, afraid that somehow Eliott might have snuck in and overheard. They’re both empty, obviously. Yann continues. “And saying everything is fine now is all and well. But what happens when you want more, huh? When pretending isn’t enough?”

Lucas wants to tell Yann that it’s probably too late for that, he already wants more, _ so much more. _ But again, saying as such would send him straight to his own grave, and Lucas is too young and pretty for that, so instead he rolls his eyes. “Yann, I really don’t want to fall out over this.”

Because that’s the very last thing Lucas wants, that would crush him almost as much as losing Eliott would. Yann is shaking his head vigorously, “Neither do I. You know I’m just worried, it’s hard watching you two act like that and knowing it’s not real. I’m in an awkward position, you know? Because I’m in on it, but I’m also not, you’re making me have to lie to Arthur, Basile _ and _ Eliott.”

Lucas slumps against the sink, guilt pushing him over. “I’m sorry,” he says, “you know that’s not what I want, I hate lying to them too. But I’m doing this for Eliott, okay? He wants to get back with Marco and I promised that I’d help him. If you want me to tell him you know about it, then I will, he’ll get over it. But I’m not backing out of this, Yann. I have to help him.”

Yann sighs again. “You don’t have to tell him, Lucas. Just, be careful, alright? I know how your stubborn ass gets, don’t do anything stupid.”

Lucas flicks his still went hands at Yann, splattering droplets of water onto him, he backs away with a scowl. “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do,” he insists teasingly.

Yann goes to throw his own smart remark back, but the bathroom door swings open, a middle-aged man entering and cutting their conversation short. In a way, Lucas is thankful, he doesn’t think he can take any more of Yann’s tedious lecturing.

It’s easier that way, to pretend his head isn’t as heavy with reckless thoughts as it is.

*****

A while later, once they’ve left the restaurant, Lucas decides to walk home with Eliott. They’re wandering along the street aimlessly, Eliott humming softly beside him as he balances on the edge of the pavement. It’s around seven, so the sun has just begun to simmer down, a pale glow peeking past the clouds that take up the muted blue of the sky.

Eliott is smiling, again. The slight upwards tilt of his lips just about visible with his head angled down towards the path. Every so often he’ll look up to the sky, squinting at the last residues of sunshine and grinning to himself before glancing down again.

It’s beautiful, Lucas thinks, how traces of the sun catch onto the highest points of his skin, brightening the dark tips of his hair and painting a sheen of gold over him. Lucas can almost feel the warm rays as they bounce off Eliott and soak into his own skin.

“Why are you in such a happy mood?” Lucas asks as they pass a florist shop, the fresh smell of roses and tulips from the outside displays wrapping around them as they walk. Because he’s too curious now, he wants to know what Eliott is thinking.

“I am?” Eliott looks up from where his gaze had been fixated on the pavement to make sure he doesn’t fall off the edge, eyebrows furrowed inquisitively like he hadn’t even realised his own cheerfulness.

Lucas chuckles softly. “Yeah, you couldn’t stop laughing back there.”

“Maybe our friends are just idiots,” Eliott shrugs, his own breath falling into a small laugh.

“That they are.”

A few beats pass, they round the corner that conjoins to the last stretch of path leading to Eliott’s flat. “But yeah, I’m just happy, I guess. Does there have to be a reason?”

“No. Not at all,” Lucas smiles, meeting Eliott’s eyes again. Their gazes hold for a few moments too long, Lucas is the first to look away, because he can feel his smile growing so embarrassingly fond at the soft look in Eliott’s eyes.

Of course there doesn’t have to be a reason for Eliott’s sudden happy mood. It’s just really fucking nice to see, to be honest, because it’s been a while since Lucas has seen Eliott smile like this. When Eliott had been in the depths of his relationship with Marco he didn’t seem happy, he’d say he was, and maybe Lucas is somewhat biased, considering, but he’s known Eliott for twelve years, he knows what a happy Eliott looks like. And the Eliott that was constantly being let down by the one person who’s supposed to make him the happiest, who’s supposed to give him the world, wasn’t a happy Eliott.

_ Truly _, it wasn’t.

As they enter Eliott’s apartment building and begin to climb the stairs, Lucas thinks back to their conversation with Marco and the way he had spoken to Eliott, how it had caused liquid lead to churn in Lucas stomach. He isn’t sure whether that’s a common thing for them, for Marco to speak down on Eliott like that, or if what Eliott had said was true and it was just his jealousy speaking. 

Either way, something about it just hadn’t sat right with Lucas.

As they disappear into Eliott’s apartment, Eliott wordlessly goes to boil the kettle while Lucas moves into the living room to set up Netflix on the TV. It’s an unspoken ritual for them—to come home from a tiring day out socialising and unwind with tea and a movie. It’s one of Lucas’ favourites, actually, because he loves spending chilled out time with Eliott, he loves tea and he loves Eliott’s absurd taste in movies no matter how much he teases him about it.

And he loves Eliott. Lucas loves Eliott especially when he’s curled up in the corner of the sofa with his cheek squished into the pillows and the soft fabric of his sweater pooling around him like he is now. He loves Eliott when he giggles tiredly at the funny parts of the movie, because even though it’s been a long day and he’s seen the movie twelve times already, he still finds it in himself to laugh.

“This is my favourite bit,” Eliott mumbles, voice muffled by the cushions as he stretches his legs out to sprawl across Lucas’ lap. Lucas stiffens at the weight for only a brief second before he lets his hands fall onto Eliott’s ankles, just to rest there.

Lucas hums from his upright position, his head falling onto the back of the sofa to look down at Eliott who’s lying down. “I can’t believe you’re making me watch _ Clueless _, again.”

“You love _ Clueless _,” Eliott dismisses him.

Lucas scrunches his face up to show his disagreement. “No, _ you _ love _ Clueless _. I’m only here because you enticed me with tea.”

Eliott lifts his head up, “Oh, that’s the only reason?”

“Mhm,” Lucas doesn’t tell Eliott the real reason is that he just loves spending time with him, as simple as that. “Paul Rudd isn’t half bad to look at either,” he says instead.

He watches as Eliott scrunches his eyebrows together, rising up on one elbow. “Don’t tell me you have a crush on Paul Rudd.”

“What’s wrong with that!?” Laughter tumbles from Lucas’ lips at the scandalised look on Eliott’s face. “Are you kink shaming me?”

A small huff leaves Eliott’s mouth as he slumps back into the couch cushions. “Having a crush isn’t a kink, and Paul Rudd isn’t even your type. He’s so old.”

“Oh he’s not? Tell me, what’s my type then? Since you clearly know everything.”

Eliott rolls onto his back then, looking up at Lucas through his eyelashes. He shrugs, “You always go for guys taller than you, brunette. Usually you’ll end up never speaking to them again.”

Lucas’ brain short circuits, he doesn’t know whether to be worried that Eliott has picked up on his suspicious choice in guys or not. “He isn’t _ that _ old, he’s only like, twenty-five in this one,” he argues weakly, instead, lacking something better to say.

“So you like older guys, too?” Eliott asks, his voice is low and curious. Lucas has to bite his lip to stop himself from squirming.

_ If two years older than me is classified as an older guy, then yes, _Lucas thinks, his head still resting against the back of the sofa to look down at the other boy. “Maybe,” Lucas whispers.

The air twists into something thick, Lucas is sure the blue of his eyes have darkened as an involuntary response to the way Eliott is gazing up at him. Shivering at the way Eliott licks his bottom lip once and lets a harsh exhale of breath fall from his nose, that is, somehow, almost indistinct at the same time.

“I don’t really think I have a type though,” Lucas decides after a while, cutting into the weird silence. “I just go for whoever is there.”

_ I just settle, because I can’t have who I really want, _goes unspoken.

Eliott doesn’t say anything, so Lucas tunes back into the movie, Cher is in the middle of a nonsensical debate about Haitians and garden parties and RSVPs. Lucas hates that it kind of makes sense.

Another while passes, ten minutes or so before Eliott speaks again. “You’ve never been in a relationship,” he says it like he’s only just come to the realisation, it falls somewhere between a question and a statement. Lucas breaks his gaze away from the television to find Eliott already looking at him.

“I haven’t, no.” He doesn’t know what Eliott expects him to say. _ Yeah, I’ve been so hung up on you that I haven’t even as much as looked in the direction of anyone else beyond desperate and absolute last resort one night stands, that always end up being shitty and never actually satisfy the void I’ve been looking to fill. _

Eliott is still lying on his back, his hands absentmindedly fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. The delicate twirls and loops his fingers make are distracting, Lucas almost misses Eliott’s next question.

“Why not?”

Lucas contemplates his answer, decides to choose his words carefully because he can’t lie to Eliott, but he also can’t tell him the truth. He finds a happy medium, “I guess I haven’t really found the right person, I don’t really want to be in a relationship just for the sake of it, you know? I’d like to think fate will guide someone to me eventually, I just have to wait it out.”

He finds himself chuckling softly, it sounds dumb, he’s not really sure fate has been on his side recently. But the answer seems to satisfy Eliott enough, as he hums and goes back to watching the movie.

Although, not even a minute later he’s turning his head again, “Lucas,” he barely whispers, voice deafening in the eerie stillness of the flat despite the movie that’s still running. “Have you ever been in love?”

The sudden thumping that impounds Lucas' heart at the question can be heard irrefutably in his own head, it wouldn’t even surprise him if Eliott could hear it, too. He’s acutely aware of the soft panic settling alight within him, the soft panic that has the power to either grow or fade, depending on what Lucas chooses to say next. It can only grow if he lets his thoughts swirl into another vortex of overthinking, so he breathes slowly, lets his alarming thoughts float away with the wind and the reverberation of the movie that Lucas’ ears had deserted a few miniature heart attacks ago.

“No,” he lies, swallowing down the harsh lump that coils in his throat with how wrong it feels.

There’s an ever so slight dip in Eliott’s chest that Lucas fails to notice, a brief second where his breathing catches and doesn’t quite know where to go. It’s indifference, Lucas convinced himself, because Eliott isn’t saying anything, they’re just looking at each other and Lucas needs something to fill the silence before he does something stupid like yell, _ actually, yes, I have, I am. _

“What’s it like?” he asks Eliott instead, “Being in love.” Because Eliott knows, he’s in love with Marco. And maybe hearing Eliott describe how he loves, how it makes him feel, can plant a little seed of warmth in Lucas, something that might fill the voids between the gaps of his ribcage, maybe being able to imagine himself as the one Eliott speaks about so fondly can help it bloom into a tiny glimmer of hope.

Eliott’s lips purse into a smile, he looks away for a second, then back to Lucas again. “It’s… strange. Like, it’s overwhelming, but it makes you feel complete, in a way. It’s like that one person never leaves your mind, you always want to be near them, and even when they’re near it’s still not enough.” There’s a break in his words, he isn’t smiling anymore, but he isn’t frowning either. Lucas doesn’t speak, because he can sense Eliott has more he wants to say.

His inkling proves correct, because with a small hum, Eliott falls into another flow. “And it’s maybe a bit frightening, how one minute you’re with this person and the next they’re everything to you, and you wonder how you were ever able to live without them, because you sure as hell couldn’t imagine a day without them now. It feels like, a hole in your heart that you didn’t even know was there has been filled. As scary as that is, it’s the best feeling in the world,” he pauses, smiling down at his fidgeting hands, “it’s _ everything _.”

Lucas blinks, Eliott’s words resonate with every fibre of Lucas’ being, he feels all of that, _ he understands. _When he’s with Eliott he feels like he’s circling a precarious fire, yet he’s completely safe at the same time. It’s like space and time merge into one fine point, like time has collapsed into a tiny speck and implodes at the speed and force of light—almost as if Lucas’ world rotates around Eliott, and everything about him.

But while Lucas is thinking about Eliott in that sense, Eliott isn’t thinking about Lucas. He’s thinking about Marco; that’s how _ Marco _ makes Eliott feel, Eliott’s world revolves around _ Marco, Marco _ is the person Eliott can’t imagine a world without.

It’s Marco that Eliott is in love with, not Lucas.

“You’ve never felt like that?” Eliott’s eyes flick up. The room is darker now, there’s no sun left in the sky to filter in through the blinds and catch onto the flutter of Eliott’s eyelashes. But there doesn’t need to be, because even in the murk of the evening, even with the only source of light coming from the flash of the long forgotten movie, the intense glisten of Eliott’s eyes still manages to steal every last breath of air from Lucas’ lungs.

Lucas shakes his head, the movement feels onerous, and realistically, such a simple human reflex shouldn’t take so much out of him.

But it does.

Regardless, Lucas doesn’t like how heavy the air has become, so he does the only thing he knows how to. “Besides,” he smiles impishly down at Eliott, “maybe Paul Rudd will come and sweep me off my feet, there’s time yet.”

Eliott scoffs at this, rolling his eyes, “Fucking _ Paul Rudd _. In your dreams.”

“I don’t know what you have against him, that man has aged like fine wine.” He gets a light foot in the stomach from Eliott in retaliation, it causes Lucas to chuckle. But Eliott doesn’t get to respond, as their bickering gets cut short by Idriss and Sofiane entering the apartment covered in gym sweat.

“Evening, lovebirds,” Idriss peeks his head in through the living room door, although his teasing grin disappears as soon as his eyes catch onto the TV screen. “Lucas,” he looks over to them disapprovingly, “don’t tell me you let him watch _ Clueless _ again.”

Another burst of laughter erupts out of Lucas while Eliott grunts out a weak protest, “I don’t watch it _ that _ much.”

“Oh but you do, my love,” Lucas coos teasingly, squeezing Eliott’s ankle.

The endearment falls from his lips way too easily, and Eliott’s lack of reaction should terrify him, it really should. It doesn’t.

“I’m going to shower, and if the football isn’t on by the time I get back I’m revoking your Netflix access,” Idriss points a warning finger at Eliott, who doesn’t even look up at him as he flips him the finger over his head.

Idriss and Sofiane eventually join them in the living room. It’s not very spacious, so Eliott sits up to make room. And Lucas hates football, but with Eliott now pressed into his side, his head resting on Lucas’ shoulder as both of them pay no attention to the tackling and kicking and frustrated shouts of the other two boys, it’s almost bearable.

Lucas falls asleep to the lull of Eliott’s breaths against his neck and the weight of arms circled around his waist. And he dreams about the stars and the sunshine that dance within the blue-grey galaxies of Eliott’s eyes.

And he lets himself enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...thoughts?
> 
> thank u for reading and leaving kudos and comments, my heart :’))) 
> 
> my tumblr - [@lumierelovers](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/)  
twitter - [@sebslouvre](https://mobile.twitter.com/sebslouvre)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah hello!! this took me so long to post, life got rlly busy, but mainly bcs what i was writing ended up being way too long, so i decided to split it into two chapters instead. soz for mistakes this was hard to write and i’ve been looking at it for a whole ass month it’s frying my brain!!!
> 
> thank u for all ur patience i love u!! and enjoy!!

“_Yes_, right there. That looks sick!”

Lucas is elbowed out the way by a delighted Eliott leaning forwards to get a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. The neon streaks Lucas has just painted on his cheeks like cat whiskers are, admittedly, a little underwhelming under the shitty yellow toned light. But Eliott seems thrilled nonetheless—if the wide grin plastered across his face is anything to go by.

“Let me do yours now,” he says, turning to face Lucas with sparkling eyes.

Lucas sighs.

He is excited, _ he is _. Just tonight is the night of the neon party, the one Arthur’s friend Jacob is throwing in his so-called mansion, and Lucas is trying to match Eliott’s enthusiasm, but he’s just a little tired, is all. He’ll get over it.

The two of them had escaped to the bathroom in Lucas’ flat to get first use of the big mirror, while the others get up to god knows what in the kitchen over the massive case of beer Eliott had brought over with him.

Lucas moves willingly when Eliott pushes him against the bathroom sink. His shoulders hunch forwards slightly to meet Lucas’ height and get a better angle as he uses a careful finger to paint a trail of neon dots from the curve of his eyebrow down to his cheekbone.

“What’s your inspiration for this one then?” Lucas mumbles into the atomic space between their faces, a teasing edge to his voice. “A bit of Picasso? A little Jackson Pollock?”

“Hmm,” Eliott squints in concentration, unfazed by Lucas’ taunting. “Sven Nilsson.”

Lucas scrunches his nose.

“Who?”

Eliott uses his thumb and forefinger to tilt Lucas’ head back by the chin to admire his work. “He’s a street artist. Well, graffitist. He’s known in Stockholm for spray painting dicks over walls of the city.”

“You made that up,” Lucas squints at him.

“I didn’t!” Eliott defends. “He did it in protest of the zero-tolerance policy they had on graffiti at the time. So, street artist is a reach, probably, but there was a cause.” He pauses, chuckling to himself lightly, “I think that’s so cool, you know? How he wasn’t afraid of putting himself at risk for something he was passionate about, because aside from the dicks,” another chuckle, “he actually has some really cool works that are all over the city, now that they’ve lifted the ban, and—” He pauses, lips snapping shut and falling to a frown. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m probably boring the hell out of you.”

Lucas is shaking his head faster than he can even fully comprehend Eliott’s words, because _ God, is he wrong. _ So, completely, ridiculously wrong _ . _ And it stings Lucas’ chest a little, the fact that someone (someone as in probably _ Marco _) has made Eliott feel like he can’t freely talk about something he’s passionate about without it being pegged as annoying, or boring.

“You’re not boring me,” Lucas whispers solemnly, just now realising how close their faces are. “You could never bore me.”

The way Eliott’s eyes had lit up as he spoke, bright grey-blue orbs salient against the thick black of his pupils, is something Lucas continuously finds himself getting lost in. Because Eliott could be talking about the most monotonous thing on earth, and Lucas still thinks his words could reel him into full attentiveness like how the moon controls the tide.

But now Eliott’s eyes are unsure and reticent, and Lucas _ hates _ it.

“You sure about that?” A cynical breath of a laugh slips past Eliott’s lips, like he doesn’t believe Lucas could possibly be interested, like he hasn’t hung off every single letter and syllable that Eliott’s voice has made since he was seven years old.

“Yes,” Lucas nods, poking him in the stomach, “Don’t ever think that.”

Eliott smiles, but it’s small, shy. “Okay,” he says.

But Lucas can’t help tease Eliott just once more, because he loves seeing Eliott smile and if he can force it out of him, then he’ll do everything in his power to do just that. “Although, I hope that isn’t you trying to tell me you’ve painted a neon dick across my forehead. I would be thoroughly offended.”

This earns him a real, genuine laugh out of Eliott. One that’s full and beautiful and causes the corners of his eyes to crinkle in glee.

“And what if I have?” Eliott challenges, eyebrows bouncing impishly.

Lucas squints.

“You wouldn’t, you’re not that mean.”

Eliott only laughs again, “Are you underestimating me right now?”

He’s still going between dipping his finger into the paint and dotting patterns over Lucas’ face. The paint is cold, but Eliott’s hands are an inferno setting Lucas’ skin afire, and it not only burns, but it’s intoxicating. Like droplets of liquor catching onto a flame and setting themselves alight as they melt under the curves and dips of Lucas’ face.

And Lucas hasn’t even touched any alcohol, yet, but he already feels drunk on just Eliott’s voice and touch alone.

Eliott is so close, still, only a chin tilt away. His body engulfing and all-encompassing as he looms over Lucas with his brows furrowed and the tip of his tongue sneaking past his lips. Lucas forgets that he’s supposed to be _ teasing _, joking around like best friends do, when he whispers again, his words feather light as they echo from the bathroom walls, “I would never.”

Just as softly, Eliott says, “no?” as he focuses heavily on the press and swirl of his finger against Lucas’ skin. His eyes aren’t meeting Lucas’ and he draws his bottom lip under his teeth. Writing it off as concentration, Lucas shakes his head assertively.

But this only causes a whine to escape from the back of Eliott’s throat, “Stop! You’re messing it up.” He moves the hand that isn’t covered in paint to cup the side of Lucas’ face and hold it still. And it works. _ That _ gets Lucas to freeze up instantly, suspended in time as if one infinitesimal twitch in the wrong direction will have Eliott’s soft, warm hand falling away like smoke.

And that’s the last thing Lucas wants.

“I know you wouldn’t do that, though,” Lucas murmurs with a cunning curve to the corners of his lips. “Unless you want to go to this party dateless.”

A low gasp leaves Eliott’s gaping mouth, “You’d really just ditch me like that? Make me go all by myself with those idiots?” He flicks his head to the side to gesture to their friends, who Lucas can vaguely hear arguing over something indistinct in the other room.

“Yes,” Lucas giggles, jutting out his chin, “No fake date for you.”

“Well that’s a shame,” Eliott tuts, shaking his head, frown a little disappointed. “I was really looking forward to it.”

There must be something avidly fascinating about the art of pressing fluorescent fingerprints onto Lucas’ blazing skin, because Eliott still isn’t meeting his eyes, and his hand still hasn’t moved from Lucas’ cheek. So, out of pure lack of self-restraint, Lucas leans into the touch. He nuzzles his cheek into Eliott’s palm, ever so slightly, and _ this _ is what finally gets Eliott’s eyes to pull away from his task and meet Lucas’ curious but apprehensive own.

And when Eliott’s thumb brushes Lucas’ cheekbone where it lays, a gesture so transient yet so delicate, Lucas thinks _ maybe _. Deep, deep, deep down, further than he could ever really allow himself to reach for, in a cage barricaded in titanium and wrapped in chains, there’s one tiny crack. And it’s nanoscopic, almost illusive but it’s there nonetheless. In all its glory, shreds of light pouring out as the crack unfolds.

_ Maybe, maybe, maybe. _

“Yeah?”

Maybe, this is it. Lucas thinks, as they stand there in the poorly lit bathroom, with the only sounds palpable being the leaky faucet behind them echoing water thudding against porcelain, the nebulous chatter of their friends in the other room, and perhaps a hitch of breath. With Eliott’s palm warm against his cheek and his eyes like silver balls of fire leaking into Lucas’ innermost fears and wonders, Lucas thinks _ maybe. _

“Yeah.”

A burst of flutters are set loose in his stomach when Eliott exhales through his nose and wets his lips, and Lucas looks up at him, eyes wide and innocent. And he wants to ask, _ what are you thinking? _ Wants so desperately to know what’s going on inside Eliott’s head right now. He, stupidly, wants to know if _ maybe _ could be a possibility, if even just a small one.

However, just like it always seems to go— like the flickering flame of a candle being released out into the unsettled wind—the door flings open, and then there is Basile, sticking his head into the bathroom, his voice resounding in the stillness that has been ripped from Lucas’ grasp.

“What’s taking you guys so long? There’s a queue out here, you know!”

Eliott takes one, two steps back, his hand slipping from Lucas’ face like the sun falling behind a cloud. And he’s _ too far _ now, the newfound distance between them causes a blizzard cold chill to pour down Lucas’ spine and leak into his bones.

It feels _ wrong. _

“Yeah, we’re coming,” Lucas manages to force out, although he can’t quite compel himself to tear his eyes away from Eliott just yet. Eliott, who had broken eye contact the moment the door handle had twisted and is now busying himself with wiping the paint from his fingers with a tissue.

Basile is still waiting in the doorway, apparently, as Lucas vaguely resisters him speaking again. “Well if you want some beer you better hurry up, because they’re slowly disappearing.”

Eliott glances up at this to narrow his eyes at Basile, “You assholes better not have drank all of my beer.”

Basile seems to take Eliott’s mild threatening tone in his stride, because maybe Eliott is only as intimidating as a ginormous Labrador. He smirks, “Well, you’ll have to get your asses out of the bathroom and find out, then, won’t you? Now shift,” he gestures frenziedly, “You can make out some place else. I have to piss.”

“We were not making out,” Lucas defends weakly, finally breaking the magnetic force that had trapped his line of vision onto the one focal point that is Eliott’s ethereality. Because they _ weren’t— _despite the fact that he really, really wishes they were.

Basile only gives him a pained look, “There is pee coming out, _ Lucas _.”

“Ugh,” Lucas scrunches his face in disgust, “Alright, alright. We’re leaving.”

He shoves past Basile and into the hallway, faintly overhearing Eliott tell Basile that he's disgusting for feeling the need to inform them that, and he sighs.

“Hey,” Eliott’s arm is suddenly slung over his shoulders, guiding him in the direction of the kitchen. “Want a beer?”

And just like that, everything falls back to how it always is and always has been. And again, Lucas is reminded that Eliott is his best friend. _ They’re friends _. Whatever Lucas had felt in that moment, how he feels almost every waking minute of the day he spends with Eliott—it’s not how Eliott feels, and it never will be.

Maybe he’s becoming delusional, imagining things that aren’t actually there, intensifying lingering touches in his own head that really, aren’t very significant at all.

It’s unsettling, Lucas desperately needs to ingrain it back into his own head that he and Eliott could never be together in that way.

Because it used to be set in stone for Lucas, you see. He had things under control for so long, but now it feels like all the work he’s done to conceal and hide and cover up is being reduced to ink on paper. It’s raining and the ink is running, and slowly but surely, what once was safe and solid is now tiptoeing on weak and flimsy. And it’s _ terrifying _.

Lucas can’t have that. _ He can’t. _

“Sure,” he answers, bumping their hips together and willing the emptiness he feels in the pit of his stomach to stop aching as much as it does when Eliott giggles and nuzzles into Lucas’ shoulder.

And he smiles, tight lipped but wide enough that Eliott won’t suspect the clench in his heart or the twisting of his gut. If he does, he doesn’t mention it, Lucas is only maybe a little thankful.

*****

Arthur really wasn’t exaggerating when he said his friend Jacob from camp lived in a mansion. Lucas doesn’t think he’s seen a house this unnecessarily big like, ever, can’t even imagine having this much dispensable space. He supposes it must be lonely, living in a house with more rooms than Lucas’ entire apartment block put together.

But he’s not complaining, it makes for a great party, at least.

The night time air brings about an unpleasant bitter chill that forces Lucas to walk with his arms folded across his chest as he trudges along the mile-long cobblestoned driveway towards the house. It’s the kind of cold that washes over Lucas’ skin, again and again, meeting the warmth of his blood and turning it ice blue. The kind of cold that tints the tip of his nose red and has his eyes fighting against involuntary tears.

But Eliott feels warm, at least. Or his arm pressed into Lucas’ side as they walk is warm. Yann and Basile are both having an existential crisis over the fact that they should have brought more beer, now looking at the magnitude of the party.

“Shit, Arthur dude. When you said mansion—” Yann gapes, hugging the case of beer closely to his chest in a gesture of protection. 

Basile speaks next, “Someone needs to keep an eye on our beer, or it’s sure to get stolen.”

“Our beer? _ My beer _,” Eliott corrects.

“You know,” Basile squints, “It was _ your _ turn to buy the beer, anyways. I’m going to remember how catty you’re being about it when it comes to my turn again.” It only earns him a laugh and a crude gesture from Eliott in return.

Lucas chuckles at their nonsense bickering, he doubts they’ll be short for alcohol with this many people around. At parties like these, there’s usually booze littered everywhere. Once you enter the lion’s den that is a college party, alcohol is like a no man’s land—if there’s a bottle lying unattended it belongs to no one and everyone at the same time. Plus, Lucas thinks he’s going to need something a lot stronger than beer if he wants to get through tonight, with Eliott clinging onto him like he is currently. So, if he happens to see a lonely bottle of vodka sitting around, nobody can say he’s breaking any rules if he claims it as his own.

“Chill, we probably didn’t even need to bring the damn beer in the first place. There’ll be more than enough in there anyways,” Arthur voices Lucas’ exact thoughts.

They eventually arrive at the entrance, the house is all windows and barely any brick, which gives them the ability to see inside. Flashes of luminous strobes flicker in intervals of blue, green and purple, a cycle of rainbow spilling out onto the street that has Lucas vibrating from deep within his beer fuzzy bones, and he’s _ excited _.

It’s been a while since he’s found himself entering a party not with his anticipation siding with dread, but with zest. Maybe it’s the pretty lights that do it, or Eliott next to him asking if he wants a drink, or the fact that they don’t have to pretend tonight, because Marco won’t be here. And maybe Lucas is tired of pretending and just wants to have fun with Eliott for real. Not like _ that _ (because as Lucas has already established, the chance of such is impossible) but just like how things used to be—Lucas and Eliott not being able to leave each other’s sides at a party just because Lucas finds everyone else boring in comparison, and maybe Eliott feels the same.

They would never say as such, though.

Lucas misses that.

He stands adrift in the living room as Eliott goes to fetch them a drink (the others running off to indulge in the array of pizza scattered in boxes on the kitchen table). Watches how the spectrum of lights cause the neon of clothes and paint to glow in lambent bursts of colour, his eyes following each colour change with avid fascination. There’s a girl dressed in all fluorescent pink handing out glow sticks, and Lucas accepts two—one for him and one for Eliott, smiles as Eliott returns with their drinks and giggles as Lucas tucks the bright yellow stick behind his ear.

“Thank you,” they say in unison. Lucas for the drink, Eliott for the glow stick. It causes them to burst into another fit of giggles, Lucas steals a high off the moment and lets his bloodstream drink it up paramount to the alcohol he’s consumed. Tucks it away into his pocket and the crevasse of his heart where only he can reach it, where only _ he knows _the reason for his giddiness and smiles are because of Eliott, not the rum and coke he’s nursing.

But it’s good, this is what he needs. _ It’s fun _.

Then, Eliott is grinning at him again, and he’s asking, “Do you want to dance?” And who is Lucas to deny?

So, they dance, tucked into a space that seems to unfurl to them naturally as they descend further into the crowd. Lucas dances to a beat he can’t recognise and would never listen to on his own accord, but with Eliott practically prancing next to him, it’s okay. And Lucas feels _ free. _Feels so free of everything.

Worries of a love he doesn’t know where to place fade into the flicker of neon lights, stresses of pretending and never enough falling away with the blaring symphony of music, and anxieties of the future get lost in the way Eliott’s eyes seem to glow like scintillating fireworks against the bright colours that circulate the room.

“This is so fun!” Eliott yells into Lucas’ ear after a while, panting from all the jumping around. “Are you having fun?”

“Yeah,” Lucas tells Eliott’s expectant smile and hopeful eyes, with no word of a lie, because Lucas does wholeheartedly mean it. He _ is _ having fun.

It’s refreshing, in a sense.

After a while, when the dancefloor becomes a little too populated and the napes of their necks are clinging with sweat, they decide to take a breather.

Now, Lucas has his back pressed against the kitchen counter with Arthur next to him spitting nonsense into his left ear. Eliott had slipped away a few minutes ago mumbling something about seeing a few friends from his course and that he’d be right back. Lucas had nodded in reluctant understanding, acutely aware of every dragging minute that goes by where he doesn’t have Eliott’s dumb smile right beside him.

“Do you not think that’s a little uncalled for?” Arthur is gesturing animatedly with two arms, a splash of his drink spilling over the edge of his cup as he does so, but in his drunken state he plays no mind to it. “Like why would he say that? I just don’t get it.”

Lucas nods along despite having no idea what his friend is talking about, probably something trivial and stupid that not even Arthur himself will remember when he’s sober, anyways.

That’s when he sees him.

Through the open plan of the house, Lucas catches the head of too perfect blonde locks bobbing along as he winds in and out of the crowds gathered in the living room. And suddenly Lucas wishes the ground could just open up and swallow him whole.

_ Why is he here? _ Lucas thinks, angrily, brows knitting together and the grip he has on his drink tightening. _ This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. _It was supposed to be just him and Eliott. It was supposed to be like old times, when things were easier and happier and before they even knew Marco existed.

“Marco knows Jacob?” Lucas turns back to Arthur, a little desperately, but not really caring at this point.

“Hm?” Arthur is confused at first, but his mouth falls into an _ oh _ shape when Lucas gestures over to the figure still looming in the other room. He shrugs, “Everyone knows Jacob.” And then, wiggling his brows in a way that annoys Lucas from the very surface of his skin, “Why? Are you jealous, Lulu?”

With a stubborn tilt of his chin, Lucas huffs, “No.”

Of course Lucas isn’t jealous, he’s just irritated. He isn’t jealous of the way Marco seems to fuck up and yet find himself worthy of Eliott’s forgiveness every single time. Lucas most definitely isn’t jealous of the fact that Marco has a place in Eliott’s heart that will never be shaped to fit Lucas’ love like he wants it to, and he _ especially _ isn’t jealous of the ways he knows Marco has been with Eliott that are only attainable to Lucas in the most fanciful, fucked up ways.

Arthur pats a hand between Lucas’ shoulder blades, “Don’t worry bro,” he says, “Eliott only has eyes for one stunning boy these days, and it’s clearly you.”

It’s not the case, at all, Lucas knows this. But he smiles anyway.

“I know, just didn’t expect to see him here, is all.” He doesn’t _ want _ to see him here, doesn’t want _ Eliott _to see him here.

It isn’t long before he finds Eliott again, sitting midway up the marble staircase that leads to an entire other universe above the already ginormous ground floor. He’s laughing with two other guys and a girl that Lucas vaguely recognises from around campus when he waits for Eliott to finish class sometimes.

Eliott has his head tilted back towards the guy sitting on the step above him, so he doesn’t see Lucas approaching. Lucas stops one step down from him and kicks his ankle lightly to get his attention, mumbling out a small, “Hey.”

“Lucas!” Eliott grins after twisting his head in Lucas’ direction. “Where did you go? I was looking for you!”

Lucas raises his eyebrows, thinks about telling Eliott that he was in fact the one who had wandered off in the first place, and Lucas has been in the kitchen where he left him the entire time. But he chuckles softly instead, “Oh you were looking, were you?”

Eliott bites his lip, smiling coyly, “Uh-huh.”

Although unconvinced, Lucas indulges him anyway, it’s not like Eliott _ has _to spend every second of every minute next to Lucas—he has other friends, too. And it’s only been twenty minutes, after all, it’s not like Lucas can’t survive twenty minutes without Eliott.

Eliott giggles, reaching out to tug on Lucas’ arm and pull him down until he’s sat right on Eliott’s lap on the staircase, his arms wrapping around Lucas’ middle.

“Guys, this is Lucas, my boyfriend,” Eliott says then to the little group surrounding them. “I don’t know if you’ve all met before.” He then turns his head to Lucas, “But these are some friends from my course, uh, that’s Camille, Elias and Alex.”

Lucas mumbles a greeting to each person as Eliott points to introduce them, possibly too immune to the fact that Eliott had introduced Lucas as his boyfriend like it’s his most favourite thing to say on earth.

One of the guys, Elias, speaks first, “Ah yes! We’ve met before, at Carlos’ party at the start of the year? Remember?”

To be honest, Lucas doesn’t remember, doesn’t even know who Carlos is, but he smiles and nods anyway, “Yeah, I remember.” This seems to please the guy, as he grins back at Lucas all chuffed.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you!” the girl, Camille practically squeals. “Eliott doesn’t shut up about you, honestly. If you knew what I had to listen to during our Monday morning lectures without slapping him over the back of the head, you’d be proud of me.”

“Oh yeah?” Lucas’ stomach flips, and he wraps his arm around Eliott’s neck, if only to steady himself.

“Hey!” Eliott whines, “I do not.”

This causes the group to break out into laughter. “Please,” Alex rolls his eyes, “You can’t even deny it, we’re all witnesses.”

Lucas chuckles along with them despite the pool of delighted amusement that surges through him at the thought of Eliott talking to his friends about him. Granted, it’s not in the way Lucas wants to tell himself it is—it’s not like Eliott is going around gushing about Lucas like they’re madly in love or anything. They’re friends, Lucas talks about Eliott sometimes, too. It’s not weird. But still, Lucas finds a small slice of gratification in the knowledge.

“Well isn’t that adorable?” Lucas coos, pinching Eliott’s cheek between two fingers.

Eliott seems almost embarrassed by the claims, as he groans into Lucas’ shoulder. “Alright. We’re leaving,” he announces suddenly, beginning to stand with his arms still clasped around Lucas’ waist.

Lucas, who is practically manhandled into a standing position, whines in protest, because he was actually enjoying Eliott’s friends’ company.

Alex throws his arms up, “Hey! C’mon dude we’re only fucking around.”

Eliott ignores him. “See you losers later.”

Elias tips his head back in another spurt of tipsy giggles, “It’s because he _ knows _it’s true!”

“I can’t hear you!” Eliott yells over his shoulder as he drags a giggling Lucas down the stairs and away, until they’re back in a far corner of the living room.

“Your friends are hilarious, I’m offended you didn’t introduce us sooner,” he tells Eliott with his back against the wall, Eliott stood in front of him.

Eliott rolls his eyes, “Yeah, they’re real hilarious, aren’t they?”

Lucas ignores Eliott’s slightly cutting tone and tilts his head back against the wall, studies how ethereal Eliott’s eyes look contrasted against the neon on his cheeks, and he thinks, _ why don’t you love me? _It would be so good, so easy, if Eliott could just love him back. He swallows, diverts his gaze away from Eliott and shivers when it lands upon Marco, who is now lingering on the outskirts of the dancefloor.

“Your ex is here.”

He says it casually, like he’d handle a conversation surrounding the weather, because Lucas is so casual about this—the fact that Marco is here, _ so unbothered it’s ridiculous. _ Eliott’s eyes snap up from where they had been slightly downcast, and a few moments pass where neither of them say anything, where Eliott nibbles at his bottom lip with his brows furrowed almost unnoticeably.

“You didn’t know?” Lucas asks.

Eliott shakes his head, “No, uh—” He glances around the room, which has almost doubled in capacity during their short absence, people becoming considerably more wasted as the night progresses. “No, I didn’t.”

And if Lucas didn’t know any better, he’d have said Eliott looks almost…disappointed. As when his eyes finally dart back to Lucas again, he sighs, and his eyes find an interest in the ground, the ceiling, and the piece of wall right to the left of Lucas’ face.

Honestly, Lucas understands. He hadn’t really felt like making out with Eliott tonight, either. Not because he doesn’t enjoy it—because _ fuck _, it’s probably his favourite thing to do ever—but because Lucas had hoped tonight would be like old times, and so maybe Eliott had felt the same in that sense.

Then there’s the fact that Lucas isn’t necessarily the person Eliott wants to be kissing, anyways. It’s Marco who holds that title.

“What are we gonna do?” Lucas speaks again, ducking his head to catch Eliott’s eyes and string them back up to where he wants them.

Eliott shrugs, “I don’t know.” Then, after glancing around the room again, facial expression calm but unreadable, “He’s looking at us.”

Oh. Lucas refrains from peeking over Eliott’s shoulder as to not appear too obvious, decides to just take Eliott’s word for it.

Something about the air surrounding them feels heavy, like it had back in Lucas’ bathroom earlier that day. Like someone has placed a lit match between Lucas’ fingers and is watching him struggle and panic as embers of heat flick onto his skin while the match smolders away, concurrently slow and alarmingly fast. Something about the way Eliott leans in without warning, and the fact that Lucas had almost half expected it, is perturbing, yet simultaneously thrilling.

So when Eliott’s lips part against Lucas’ own, as Lucas feels Marco’s eyes burning their own embers into Eliott’s back and Lucas’ hands around Eliott’s neck, Lucas feels himself _ wanting _ to make Marco jealous. Because Lucas has lived most of his life being the jealous one, and he _ hates _how that feels, hates that such an unwanted trait has become so accustomed to him now.

But maybe he’s drunk, and maybe Eliott’s lips taste like peach schnapps and melt like warm honey. So maybe Lucas arches into the kiss more than he’d usually allow himself to, maybe he grips the sides of Eliott’s neck a little more desperately than necessary as he lets the kiss deepen and unfold. Maybe Lucas wants to be the couple everyone looks at and wishes they had something like it.

And maybe he wants that with Eliott.

It’s a little uncoordinated, but it’s to be expected with how intoxicated they both are. And when Eliott grunts from far down in his throat and pulls away, he drags Lucas into the middle of the dance floor by the hand. Lucas blinks dazedly after him, the harsh pulsation of lights coinciding with the thumping of his heart and the pounding in his head.

It feels like the bodies around them are moving in interludes of slow motion, sluggishly lagging, only to speed up with the beat drop of music and move with the intermittent flash of strobes. It’s disorientating until he feels Eliott’s hands find his own and they’re dancing together, again. And then it’s like everything slows down around them, like they’ve created their own conjunction of space and time where they’re moving at their own pace that nobody else in the world can reach.

They twirl, spin and dip, and it’s so dizzying, yet exhilarating all the same.

Eliott is grinning, and he looks as carefree as the clouds, with the lights dancing across the neon on his face in a way that’s so incredibly pretty. And with Lucas’ vision as blurry as it is, it’s like watching how the city lights glow colours onto the street when it rains at night. So, Lucas fists the front of Eliott’s t-shirt and pulls him down into another kiss. Foolishly doesn’t even look to see if Marco is watching, because he doesn’t care, and he just wants to kiss Eliott again. Somebody will see, probably, it’s fine. And Eliott doesn’t really seem to mind anyway, as he kisses Lucas right back.

It’s good. Lucas feels drunk on peach flavoured kisses and warm hands on his cheeks. Like he’s drowning, but not in panic.

He’s drowning in bliss.

The flailing elbows that dig into their sides and cause them to sway and stumble cause Eliott to huff into Lucas’ mouth. And soon enough, he’s pulling away and he’s pulling Lucas by the forearm out from the swarm and down the hallway, then into the bathroom that’s strangely vacant, but thankfully so.

Once inside, the door shuts behind them like a seal silencing any harsh noise, and Lucas looks at Eliott and Eliott looks right back.

And Lucas wonders aloud, “Is everything okay?”

Eliott doesn’t respond, only stumbles across the room and plops himself down inside the bathtub.

“Eliott,” Lucas giggles, “what are you _ doing _?”

A beautiful giggle erupts out of Eliott’s mouth as he tips his head back over the edge of the tub, “I’m taking a bath,” like it’s obvious, “come here.”

“You can’t take a bath here,” Lucas laughs again, feeling rum spike his blood a lot more profusely now with the blaring of music fading to just a muted lull through the bathroom door and the lights less intense. He’s a little worried that Eliott is going to turn the water on and get his clothes all wet, it wouldn’t even surprise him since Eliott is clearly well along the road of inebriated himself.

“Just come here!” Eliott whines, his eyes now pleading, “I won’t turn the water on, I swear.”

Lucas rolls his eyes and clumsily follows Eliott into the bathtub, so that they’re sat at opposite ends with their knees drawn up to their chests. 

“See,” Eliott smiles dopily, “It’s comfy, no?”

“It’s really not.” The hard porcelain is digging into Lucas’ tailbone and he can already feel a crick forming in his neck. “What are we doing in here anyways?”

Eliott shrugs, “It was getting really crowded out there. I don’t know.” He looks down then, his fingers pulling at a thread come loose in the knee rip of his jeans. “We can go back out if you want, I just—”

“Hey,” Lucas mumbles, “It’s okay, we can stay here for a bit.” Because Lucas may be drunk, but he also knows how Eliott gets in large crowds—how it can stress him out and sometimes he just needs a little time to breathe.

And Lucas’ vision may be thoroughly blurred around the edges, but he sees it as clear as day when Eliott smiles, incandescent and beautiful.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. Then, as a more guileful grin shadows over his face, “Plus people will probably think we’re fooling around in here, so it’s a win-win.”

It’s like reality splashes across Lucas’ face like ice cold water, then. Because _ right _, not real.

Lucas tries his hardest to smile and not grimace. “Yeah. Win-win.”

Eliott’s head falls back again, the dip of his neck molding perfectly around the edge of the bathtub, and it can’t be comfortable whatsoever, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Lucas watches with his arms folded over his knees and his chin tucked into the crook of his elbow, completely enamoured by the soft shadows that cast from Eliott’s eyelashes onto his cheeks from the lowlight above.

“Do you remember when we were kids, and we’d sneak away during the dinner parties our mothers would have to the most random places?” Eliott mumbles, his voice as soft as the murmur of music coming from outside the small world they have encapsulated around themselves.

Lucas nods despite the fact that Eliott can’t even see him, smiles as he thinks back to times spent huddling together in treehouses, attics and roofs. Easier times when Lucas’ didn’t have to worry about looking at Eliott too fondly because it didn’t _ matter _. Eliott was his world back then, and he’s his world now. Only back then, Lucas was Eliott’s world too.

But now the gates of Eliott’s world have been opened to people who Lucas could never compare to in a million years. He’s merely a visitor at this point.

And it hurts, it hurts more than anything.

It hurts like hell not being Eliott’s everything when Eliott is everything to Lucas.

“This feels like then,” Eliott whispers, “I miss it.”

Lucas wishes he could tell Eliott he doesn’t have to miss it—that things are still the same and _ they’re _ still the same—but he would only be lying, and he thinks Eliott knows that, too. Things have changed because Lucas had to go and catch feelings, and even though Eliott doesn’t know about his feelings, Lucas has selfishly let it cause a shift in their friendship because he wants to protect _ himself _.

Because he’s terrified of what Eliott would do if he found out.

Instead he breathes out a light chuckle, “Well, we can add the bathtub to that random places list now, can’t we?”

“We can,” Eliott finally lifts his head, his eyes meeting Lucas’ all hazy and bright.

They sit in silence for a while, then. A few frantic knocks on the door here and there being the only sounds loud enough to warrant any movement between them. But it never lasts long, considering there are probably twelve other bathrooms scattered around the house anyway. It’s Lucas who speaks first, words still slurred.

“How are things going with Marco?” It’s something Lucas most definitely wouldn’t ask sober, because quite frankly, he doesn’t want to know. But it’s been playing over and over like a niggling loop in his mind for a while, now. Since he had thought this whole fake relationship thing would only last, like, two weeks _ max _ —Eliott had made it s _ eem _ like it would only last that long. However, they’re now hitting the _ four week _ mark, and there appears to be no developments whatsoever.

He thinks maybe Eliott doesn’t hear him at first, because he isn’t responding, he’s gone back to toying with the thread of his jeans. But then he’s looking up and he’s speaking, low but there.

“Fine, I think.”

“You think?”

Eliott sighs, “I don’t know.”

Lucas rephrases, “Well do you think this is working?”

It takes another few long seconds before Eliott forms a response, “It’s just taking longer than I thought it would. Don’t worry about it, I’m getting there, okay?”

Again, if Lucas were sober, he’d be more tuned into Eliott’s dismissive tone. But he isn’t, obviously, so instead he nods.

“Okay.”

There isn’t much room in the tub, it makes it so that with their knees bent, the tips of their sneakers touch. Lucas shifts his feet forwards so that both of them are at either side of Eliott’s instead, giving him a little nudge.

_ It is okay, isn’t it? _

It’s quiet for another while, until Eliott lets out a shuddering breath, his hands curving over his knees in a whitening grip. “Lucas,” he whispers, voice upset, “Do you ever feel like everything is like, one big muddle. And you don’t know _ why _ , but you know things are just wrong and it plays on your mind so much, _ too much _, but you just don’t know what to do to fix it?”

_ Yes _ , Lucas feels his heart panic slightly, because he knows exactly that feeling— _ it’s all he knows _ . But he forces the unease to simmer down, cools his features and relaxes his shoulders. He also understands why Eliott is saying these things—because it’s the first time so long he hasn’t been with Marco, and that must feel weird for him, must feel _ wrong _ . Wrong to be kissing Lucas and _ dating _ Lucas when all he really wants is to be with Marco. And it shouldn’t come as a shock to Lucas, because _ he knew that already _, but it doesn’t make the reminder hurt any less.

“Sometimes, I suppose,” Lucas tries to be as vague as possible, not wanting Eliott to ask any questions he won’t be able to answer.

A soft sigh escapes Eliott’s lips, audible enough to be heard over the thumping of Lucas’ heart, but just about. Then, he speaks again, “I just feel like,” another fleeting pause, “Like I should be content with my life right now, because things are good, you know? I’m enjoying my course, I love living with Sofiane and Idriss, I have good friends, and I haven’t had an episode in quite a while, either. But I still feel like something is missing, almost.”

Lucas watches as Eliott has some kind of inward battle with his own thoughts, how his brows knit together, how his teeth pull at the chapped skin on his lips and his eyes remain unfocused on a point of the bathtub to the right of Lucas’ bent knee.

“And I hate that I feel this way, it feels a little selfish, because some people would say I have everything. But it doesn’t feel that way, I don’t—”

Lucas nudges Eliott with his foot again, interrupts his struggle to get words out. “I know things must be hard for you now, you know, not being with Marco, because I know he means a lot to you, I know you love him.” A breath, a willing for himself to keep going despite how much the words burn on his tongue. “But I also know everything will work out, in the end. Because he loves you too, I see that,” _ who wouldn’t fall in love with you, _he hopelessly thinks. “You don’t have to fix anything because you haven’t done anything wrong, Eliott. You haven’t. He’ll come back to you. It’ll be okay.”

Lucas doesn’t like what he’s saying, _ hates it _. But all he wants is for Eliott to feel okay, because although it pains him to admit the harsh truth of the situation, that Eliott is in love with Marco, not him (he had made that crystal clear the other night). What really hurts Lucas the most, is seeing Eliott upset. So, if a sacrifice he has to make is his own feelings, then so be it. He’ll do it if Eliott is happy in the end. For Eliott’s happiness.

It’s all that’s ever really mattered to Lucas, anyways.

“Yeah,” Eliott breathes, his lips pursing to mask a wobble. “Yeah,” he says again, so softly it’s barely there.

“You know,” Lucas murmurs, “You’re quite the emotional drunk, it’s cute.”

This seems to cheer Eliott up slightly, as he lets out a little giggle, a tipsy but pretty one. “You aren’t supposed to make fun of my crises! You’re supposed to offer emotional support, like we’re two strangers sharing a toilet cubicle together crying over our boy problems.”

Lucas looks around them, “Is that not what we’re doing?”

He feels Eliott kick his shin lightly in response.

“Hey! Okay! Okay, I’m sorry. I wasn’t making fun of you though, I said it was cute, didn’t I?”

Eliott only hums distractedly, now back to resting his head over the tub.

“How drunk are you?” he asks.

Lucas takes a second to respond, tries to count how many drinks he’s had, but can’t, notes the ringing in his ears and the heaviness in his head that feels like his brain has gained a ton.

“Your face is all swirly.”

“Really drunk then,” Eliott decides, giggling. “Fuck, me too.”

They laugh at themselves, at their stupidly drunken states. Lucas feels happy, as if he could float to the ceiling like a balloon filled with helium. Light and airy and full of bubbles.

“At least neither of us are the violet drunk type, and at least you didn’t cry,” Lucas teases.

It only earns him a disgruntled protest from Eliott, “You said you wouldn’t make fun of me,” he frowns, lips all plump and adorably pouty.

Lucas melts.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles, reaching forwards to wrap two arms around one of Eliott’s legs. Hugs them close to his chest with his chin pressed into the top of Eliott’s knee. “Sorry,” he whispers again.

Eliott’s hand comes up to brush the few strands of hair that have fallen in front of Lucas’ eyes out of the way, and he keeps it there, running his fingers gently through his hair in a way that has Lucas’ close to purring. His eyes flutter shut, nose nuzzling into the scratchy material of Eliott’s jeans.

“S’okay, baby.”

And Lucas loves this, loves how Eliott can make him feel safe like this. Warm and happy and safe. Here, in a bathtub at one in the morning, Lucas thinks this moment is perfect. With Eliott, like old times, just how Lucas had hoped tonight would go. Because Eliott could be out there with Marco, yet somehow, for some unfathomable reason that Lucas can’t quite understand, Eliott is choosing to be here, with him, instead.

And that sheds a beam of light onto Lucas’ heart, like how the sun warms your skin through the window on a sunny day.

But at the same time, it almost makes Lucas want to scream at Eliott, to tell him it’s not fair to say those things and not expect Lucas to fall in love with him.

Because he will, and he has.

Maybe Lucas wouldn’t be feeling this way if he were sober, he knows Eliott wouldn’t call him something dizzying like _ baby _ sober, anyways, not unless other people were around. But he doesn’t really care, not like this, with his blood rushing with alcohol and his heart running on high dosage of _ Eliott _—Eliott’s hands in his hair, his voice soft and his smile as pretty as ever.

Completely and utterly, madly in love.

Lucas waits a few minutes, lets them rest there with their eyes shut, until their breaths even out into a calmer synchronized rhythm of inhale-exhale, then he asks, lifting his head, “Should we go back? Or do you need more time?”

Eliott glances over to the bathroom door, gaze remaining fixed as he responds, “Yeah, okay. I think I’m good now. We should go.”

Lucas goes to stand, but then Eliott is snapping his head back and placing a hand on Lucas’ knee to stop him. “Wait,” he says quickly, urgently, then clears his throat. “I mean, should we like—” He chews on his bottom lip, like he’s contemplating something, it reminds Lucas a little of that first party, when they first kissed. “I could like, give you a hickey? I think most people saw we came in here together, it would make it more believable.”

He sounds unsure, his pupils blown out like he’s scared of Lucas’ response. But Lucas isn’t about to go and make things weird—like he’s already established, it doesn’t _ have _ to be weird, because it isn’t _ real _.

So, he says, “Yeah, sure. Go for it,” and watches as Eliott rises onto both knees to shuffle closer. Holds his breath as Eliott places a hand to either of his knees to straighten his legs and create a gap wide enough for himself to fit into. Bites on his bottom lip as Eliott straddles him, and shuts his eyes when he feels warm breath hit his neck and soft hair tickle his jawline.

Then, slowly but also all at once, like an avalanche crashing down on him, Eliott’s hand is cradling the back of Lucas’ head to tilt it back, and his lips are dragging across the skin of his neck, the dip where the beginning of his shoulder peeks through the neckline of his t-shirt. And Lucas feels like he’s on _ fire. _

Honestly, Lucas has never really been into neck kissing, finds it just plain annoying when someone tries to leave a mark on him. But with Eliott—_ God, _with Eliott’s hot breaths hitting his skin, the sliding of his lips and slight grazing of his teeth—it’s like, the hottest thing on earth. And Lucas can feel himself growing hard, just as Eliott laps his tongue over the sensitive patch of skin he’s working on.

Clenching his eyes shut tighter, Lucas tries to think of something, a_ nything, _ other than what’s currently going on. He thinks about the essay he has due on Wednesday that he hasn’t started yet, thinks about the stomach bug he had last month that had him throwing up for three days straight, thinks about the time Basile accidentally stapled his homework to his own hand. Because he can’t get hard right now, _ fuck he can’t. _

But Lucas is drunk, and he’s foolish and dumb and horny. So he moves his hands from where they had been hopelessly gripping onto the edge of the bathtub to Eliott’s waist and he grips there, instead.

Eliott makes a noise against Lucas’ neck. Whether it’s a hum or a groan or a moan, Lucas isn’t too sure, but it sends a shiver cascading right down his spine, dispersing goosebumps over every inch of his burning skin.

It’s like collisions of stars and asteroids combust throughout Lucas’ mind and deep in his body. Like vibrations of thunder and rain are thrashing at his skin and he never wants his feeling to end. The feeling of his body falling utterly pliant under Eliott’s mouth, like he’s melting into the porcelain of the bathtub, completely boneless.

“Eliott,” Lucas pants, doesn’t really mean to, it just slips out.

Maybe Eliott misses it, or chooses to ignore it, because he doesn’t move away, just keeps going.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, it’s not at all like a kiss stolen from a movie scene, it’s one steeped with contrive and _ get the job done _. Because that’s what it is. So, Lucas shouldn’t feel that underlying passion that ignites the pulse point Eliott’s lips have attached themselves to. And if he does, he’s only imagining it.

Because it can’t be real, and _ it isn’t real _.

The warmth that radiates from the spot Eliott’s lips touch Lucas’ neck spreads a firestorm throughout Lucas’ entire body. And he tries to focus on the reverberating thump of music coming from outside the room, like he’s listening to it from underwater, instead of the low pants falling from the boy pressed into the crook of his neck.

Otherwise, Lucas thinks he might just die.

He feels the area throb, almost, a hot red mark more than likely visible by now, that will soon darken to deep purple. There and begging for attention.

The thought makes Lucas shudder, that he could be walking to class on Monday morning, or to the grocery store, and people would see. But they wouldn’t know, nobody but Lucas would know that _ Eliott _ put it there, that _ Eliott _ marked him up like that.

_ His Eliott. _ Or, not his Eliott. His momentary, fleeting, illusioned Eliott. The details aren’t all that important, though.

When Eliott breaks away from Lucas’ neck, it takes a few seconds for the movement to register in his brain. But then all he can feel is the cold hollowness the absence of Eliott’s lips has left behind.

He blinks his eyes back into focus, the first thing resonating being the slight swollenness to Eliott’s lips. A dark, hooded red contrasting vividly against the pale of his skin, and under the bathroom light reflecting from the pristine all white surfaces surrounding them, it’s like a work of art, almost.

“There we go,” Eliott is the first to cut into the silence. His voice sounds almost unorthodox as it echoes from the walls and the ceiling, like words spoken in a moment like this are unnatural and wrong. But then again, it’s not like Eliott kissed Lucas’ neck because he wanted to, it’s because he wants people to see—he wants Marco to see, to get jealous, to want him back.

Lucas swallows. Then, as he clears his throat, along with it he pushes down every thought of what he can’t have, and he smiles.

“Does it look good?”

Eliott studies the mark closely, “Yeah,” he says, pursing his lips through a small smile. Like, in a way, he’s proud of it.

And in Lucas’ still drunken predicament, he wants to ask, _ why _.

_ Why are you looking at me like that? Why are we in here? Why do you keep hurting me like this? You have no idea, but you’re hurting me so bad. _

Although, he doesn’t get the chance, in the end, as suddenly there’s another urgent burst of knocks coming from the bathroom door. Then someone is yelling, “Lucas? Eliott? Are you in there?” It’s Yann. “Arthur and Baz are fighting with some really hench dudes out here! I kind of need some help!”

Then Lucas is scrambling out of the bathtub in a haste, almost knocking Eliott over in the process. And all of a sudden, he’s in the middle of a massive brawl, tugging at Arthur’s arm and dodging the flailing elbows that lunge towards his head.

Eventually, after what feels like hours, but realistically may have only been a few blurred minutes, the five of them are spilling out onto the street. Their laughter bounces from the trees and passing houses as they weave in and out of the narrow streets of Paris in the middle of the night.

The adrenaline only lasts as long as the gallivant home, however, as then they’re standing outside their apartment block, Yann fumbling for his keys, and Eliott is there, too.

“You may as well just stay with us,” Arthur is saying, “So you don’t have to walk home alone.”

Lucas thinks that sounds utterly terrifying, because he’s still half-hard from earlier. And with Eliott with him, lying next to him, there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it. Then, before Lucas knows it, Eliott is following Lucas into his bedroom—because of course he would stay in Lucas’ room, they’re supposed to be dating, after all—and they’re peeling off their clothes and falling onto the bed.

Lucas stares at the ceiling, tries to keep as still as possible so that in the darkness, maybe Eliott will think he’s asleep, and he can mask the intense thudding of his heart with silence.

It works too, for a while. The spinning of Lucas’ head as he lies there acts as a distraction, he can focus on the nausea clawing at his stomach rather than the warm, unmistakable presence of Eliott’s body next to him.

Lucas turns on his side so his back is facing Eliott and there’s more distance between them. It helps with the spinning, just a little. But then Eliott is grunting, and his arm slings over Lucas’ waist to pull him closer, as if to say, _ come back. _

Lucas’ breath hitches when their bodies align, and he feels the unmissable pressure coming from Eliott’s boxers where it presses into Lucas. And _ holy god. _His eyes widen, because he knows what that is, Lucas isn’t imagining things, it’s there and it’s prominent and obvious and Lucas can’t just fucking ignore it.

And Lucas knows that he’s still considerably wasted, will probably wake up in the morning still tipsy at this point, but it doesn’t act in any way to hide the panic that settles deep within his chest.

“Eliott,” he whispers, but all he gets in response is another half-hum, half-grunt. “Eliott,” Lucas tries again, a little louder. This time Eliott doesn’t make any noise, instead he grinds his hips forwards, pressing his obvious hard on into Lucas’ ass.

And Lucas also knows that Eliott is still drunk, too. They’re both tired and hazy and past the point of rationality, clearly. In Lucas' head, to rut back into Eliott seems like the only feasible option, because deep down, he knows that’s exactly what he wants to do. Perhaps, if he were more sober, if he hadn’t necked close to ten drinks or so, Lucas would be more alert to the fact that they both don’t really know what they’re doing, or that they do, and maybe that thought is a lot more terrifying to Lucas.

From then it doesn’t take long before Lucas is growing hard too, because Eliott is tucking his head into the nape of Lucas’ neck, and he’s rutting against Lucas in slow, deep circles that cause lightning bolt shocks to spark at the surface of Lucas’ skin. His little pants are flaming hot and wet at the exposed skin of Lucas’ back. The absence of clothes is palpable, then. And the thin material of their boxers doesn’t leave any room for imagination.

Suddenly, as Eliott lets out a small hitch of breath, Lucas is struck with the realisation that maybe Eliott doesn’t know what he’s doing. Because Eliott doesn’t like Lucas like that, he’s drunk, and he probably thinks he’s with someone else, or Marco.

Lucas has to stop this. _ He has to. _ It’s unfair and selfish of him to be aware of the situation when Eliott isn’t. So, reluctantly, Lucas circles a hand around Eliott’s wrist from where it’s wrapped around his waist, and tries to pry him off.

But Eliott’s arm is like a vice grip, and he only grumbles at Lucas’ attempts.

And _ fuck _ , this is torturous. The inner battle in Lucas' head of knowing this is wrong but not wanting it to stop mocks him, because it feels _ so good _.

“Eliott,” Lucas chokes out.

But with no avail, as Eliott only tugs him closer. And just as Lucas is about to try again, to use every fiber of force he has in him to pull away, Eliott is whimpering, “_ Lucas _,” soft but intertwined with an evident need and want that Lucas just can’t ignore.

Lucas freezes momentarily, his breath catching in his throat as he stills his breathing. He heard that correctly, right? For a few terrifying seconds, Lucas thinks maybe it had been a vivid fragment of his imagination, that he had hallucinated the word in his half-drunken state. But then, again, louder and with more purpose, Eliott is breathing, “_ Lucas _,” into the hair at the back of his head, and that’s all the confirmation Lucas needs, really.

He loosens his grip on Eliott’s wrist in favour of reaching back until he finds his hip to pull him closer, simultaneously rutting back into Eliott’s crouch.

Eliott moans again, and the sound is heavenly, They grind like that for a while, until Eliott groans deep within the back of his throat, and he’s rising up and pushing Lucas down. Lucas blinks and Eliott is hovering above him, panting and eyes wide.

In the midst of arriving home and stressing about Eliott coming with him, Lucas had completely forgotten to close his curtains, so like this, a sheen of moonlight washes over Eliott’s features. Silver highlighting the darkness in his pupils and the dusting of red across his cheeks.

_ You’re beautiful, _Lucas thinks. Thinks, but doesn’t say.

Instead, as Eliott aligns their crotches in just the right way and grinds down, Lucas’ head tips back, his mouth falling open in a breath of pleasure. Then he’s moving his own hips along with Eliott’s, matching his rhythm, desperate for the friction and the promise of relief.

“_ Yeah _,” Lucas breathes again, one hand coming up to fold into Eliott’s hair to push his head down where he wants it, craving that familiar sensation of lips on his neck. Eliott seems to get the hint, as he ducks his head and attaches his lips to the dip where Lucas’ shoulder meets his neck and begins to suck. Lucas’ other hand travels down to the small of Eliott’s back where he kneads the heel of his palm into. Because the dragging of Eliott’s teeth against his sensitive skin, along with the feeling of their hips rutting together is everything and it’s like Lucas’ entire body is made up of one giant nerve ending that is responsive to Eliott, and Eliott only.

Lucas feels it more than he hears it as Eliott mumbles something incoherent into the exposed line of his neck, the vibration of it sinks under his skin and settles deep within his rushing veins.

He’s close, he feels the swirl in the pit of his stomach and the shaking of his thighs when Eliott presses their hips together in a way that causes Lucas’ tip to peek out from the waistline of his boxers, how it slicks against Eliott’s stomach where his t-shirt has bunched upwards. And Lucas knows he exhales something that’s obscene and along the lines of a broken whimper, but he’s so out of his own body that he can’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed about it. He isn’t thinking, _ can’t think. _

Like at all, clearly.

What tips Lucas over the edge, the tension that had been coiling in his stomach unfolding in a cosmic rush, is the solid press of Eliott’s fingertips on his hips, pulling him up and _ closer. _Then a pant of, “Fuck, Lucas, you feel so good,” hot in the crook of his neck against the tingling of the still sensitive mark he had make earlier.

Lucas’ breath shudders, his mouth gaping open with a breathy moan, and then Eliott is moving his head from Lucas’ neck for the first time since he nestled it in there. Lucas’ eyes are still shut, but he can _ feel _Eliott watching him, their hips still chasing the friction as Lucas rides out his orgasm.

And then Eliott is coming, the pace of his hips stuttering, a gasp and, “_ Lucas,” _on the tip of his tongue.

It feels like falling, almost. As they come down from the spike of adrenaline, their heavy breaths lacing together like harsh winds in the silence that has settled around them. Lucas feels his head spin, now not only drunk off alcohol, but off the sound of his name falling wrecked from Eliott’s bright red, swollen lips. He distantly thinks this is maybe how _ Alice in Wonderland _felt as she fell down the rabbit hole, tumbling down and down, spinning deeper and faster in an unremitting descent.

And it would be so easy, right now, in this moment to reach out for Eliott and pull him into a kiss. To say something like,_ that was amazing, I really, really love you. _ Then, maybe, Eliott would smile, soft and pretty, and he’d whisper, _ I love you too, _right back. In any other universe, Lucas hopes it goes that way, hopes at least one Lucas out there can get his happy ending.

Unfortunately, that’s not the way things ever play out, not in Lucas’ life, anyways. So Eliott flops down lazily beside him, and Lucas’ eyes droop with heaviness, chasing the promise of sleep. He tries to fight it, to pry them open so he can look at Eliott in the darkness and see what he’s thinking, because Lucas _ needs to _. He’s just got off with Eliott, his brain hurts when it tries to comprehend the knowledge. So he tries to stay awake.

But it’s no use.

He thinks Eliott has fallen asleep too, however, because he lies still and gentle beside him. His breathing softening with each cycle of inhale, exhale until it’s so quiet Lucas would have to strain his ears to hear.

Lucas drifts to that, to the calmness and the warmth. Tries not to think too much about what they’ve just done, what Eliott will say in the morning, how the moon might be judging him.

It’s petrifying, but he thinks, for now, _ it’s okay _ . Just about, _ it’s okay _.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um. so yes. 
> 
> (ah was scared abt this chapter so pls let me know if it was okay??? idk?!! this is new for me) also i couldn’t find a street artist that went with what i wanted to write so i made that boyo up heh. thank u for reading <3 so much!!!! <3
> 
> my tumblr, pls come say hi i love u - [@lumierelovers](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/)  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wondering if there is anyone still out there. excuse the fact that it has been almost three months pls take these 10k words of what is hopefully not a mess as my apology <3

They don’t talk about it.

Lucas thinks, one hour into his shift and having already messed up three orders, maybe Eliott doesn’t remember. They had been drunk, after all. Not too drunk that they didn’t know what they were doing, but drunk enough to actually do it, apparently.

It’s been four days, and Eliott hasn’t mentioned it at all, so, neither has Lucas. It’s just the way things have gone.

When Lucas had woken the next morning, it was toeing on noon and Eliott was gone, a note left in lieu of a goodbye reading, _ had to leave for work, see you soon. _ It wasn’t out of the ordinary—Eliott always works on Sunday mornings. So, despite the panic in the pit of Lucas’ stomach and the dread that seemed to sit heavy in his gut, he hadn’t questioned it.

When he’d stumbled into the bathroom a little after one, a fleeting glance in the mirror had ingrained the reflection of how untamed his hair was, how the dark bruise on his neck had been laced with bright smudges of neon, streaks of pink and yellow smeared across his cheeks, no longer pristinely placed but messy and almost judging as they whispered, _look what you’ve done_. And Lucas had thought to himself, _well,_ _you’ve really fucked things up now, haven’t you?_

Although, surprisingly, things haven’t been awkward, which is—it’s not what Lucas expected. Eliott still texts Lucas those horrendous memes he finds on Facebook, and facetimes him while he’s doing mundane tasks like cooking dinner or ironing clothes because he says he gets bored and wants company. The anticlimax of it all is only marginally alarming, because it feels like something between them _ should _ have shifted by now.

The thing is, though, absolutely nothing has changed.

It’s been four days of normality. Four days of classes, of Fifa with Yann and arguing over pizza toppings with Basile, four days of coffee dates with Imane and grocery shopping with Arthur. Four days where absolutely nothing has changed and everything but the increasingly loud screaming in Lucas’ head has remained the same.

So, it should be fine—relieving, even, but Lucas just can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop flipping it over in his head like an incessant loop caught on a three second lag. Over and over, day in and day out. It’s even become a predominant theme to his dreams at night, Eliott’s mouth on his neck and his hands on Lucas’ hips and _ Eliott’s _ hips, _ God _.

And that’s the most terrifying part, Lucas has decided. Because as much as he’d hope something like this would change things, like a switch flickering in their heads that says _ I like you, and maybe you like me too. _ That it would be the moment they step back and realize maybe, just _ maybe _ there’s a chance they could be together for real and more. That’s not the case, Lucas would only be fooling himself if he allowed his mind to believe as such, because Eliott would have said something, then.

So, either he’s forgotten, or he’s choosing to pretend it didn’t happen because he regrets it, or he doesn’t _ want _it to change things, because he sees Lucas as just a friend. And to be honest, Lucas isn’t even sure which scenario sounds worse.

It’s a disaster, really.

So, four days later, all traces of Eliott’s lips on his neck have faded to just a ghost of a mark, pale against his skin, burning less and less with every press of fingertips. The reminder melts like ice, like now there’s nothing that can prove that night really happened, the memory could slip from his mind into the darkest depths of the ocean and disappear there and nobody would even notice.

A lost souvenir, forgotten.

Lucas is behind the counter now at work, thankful that the lunch rush has lulled down to an almost standstill. However, Daphné is beside him, her baby blue painted nails tapping on the surface of the glass counter corresponding with the pounding of his head, a deep, excruciating throb right between his eyes that just won’t settle no matter how many pints of water he chugs, or painkillers he takes.

“—See, I asked for next Saturday off because it’s Elena’s birthday—” Lucas tunes back into the long string of words spilling from Daphné’s mouth at a rate that’s just far too overwhelming for him to keep up with right now. “—But she said we’re short on staff at the minute, and that she’d get back to me. Only, it’s been three days and she hasn’t mentioned it, so I’m stressed, because I’ve booked a table at this cute Italian place as a surprise. And now I’m afraid I won’t be able to even make it! And that just ruins the entire night I had planned for her!”

Lucas loves Daphné, really, he does. But right now, it’s a lot. Or, well—if he’s honest, everything has felt like a lot recently.

“Daphy, if you want me to cover your shift, just ask. I don’t mind.”

Lucas watches as her face lights up almost comically. “Oh! Are you sure? It would be such a big help, honestly, Lucas.”

Lucas smiles, tries his best for it to not appear too forced, he could do with the extra cash, anyway. So, he says, “I’m sure,” and thanks her when she tells him she can do one of his shifts in return sometime.

The chime of the café door rings through Lucas’ ears then, and he barely has time to turn his head before he hears Daphné let out a little squeal next to him, all excited and childlike.

“There she is!” She squeaks out, scurrying to the other side of the counter to pull the girl who has just entered, Elena, Lucas notes, into a hug.

When they separate, Elena is smiling at him, bright and warm. She’s beautiful, Lucas thinks, always has, but it’s not like Daphné hasn’t told him as such a million times already.

“Hi Lucas!” She throws him a small wave, one that’s some parts awkward but every bit sincere.

This time when Lucas smiles there’s a degree more warmth behind his eyes and an easiness to the stretch of his lips. Because he’s always liked Elena, she’s cool and chill and has a pink studded nose piercing that always seems to correlate with the patchwork of her denim jacket. Lucas thinks she’s perfect for Daphné, how they balance each other out like the calmness that laps at the seashore the morning after a storm.

“Hey El, how are you?” he asks, propping his hip against the counter.

Elena grins, using a hand to flick away the too long pieces of her fringe that have fallen over her eyes. “I’m good, just came to say hi between classes.” She flicks her eyes over to Daphné, then, who is still lingering beside her, “Plus, I missed this one, so.”

Daphné giggles, all bashful and drenched with love, and Lucas’ heart pangs just a little.

They talk for a while, Daphné has to return to the back to finish off some cupcakes, but Lucas asks about Elena’s fine art course, about the project she’s been working on that’s had her practically trapped within the confinement of her apartment for weeks now. And it’s good, easy, Lucas feels like for the first time in four days he isn’t thinking about Eliott.

But like the universe can read Lucas’ thoughts, decidedly making sure he doesn’t get too comfortable feeling at ease, the door of the café swings open once again, and in walks exactly that thought. Eliott.

And it’s the first time in four days Lucas has seen him in person.

“Hey,” Eliott smiles, cool and aloof, like he hasn’t completely tipped Lucas’ entire world over on its axis twelve times over.

“What are you doing here?” is the first thing Lucas blurts. Doesn’t mean for it to come across as demanding as it does, it only goes to show how taken aback he is, it’s not like Eliott had pre warned him of any visits. Plus, the last time Lucas saw Eliott, he was swimming in between the blurred lines of post-orgasm and sleep, his bones weak like melting honey.

So, excuse him if he feels a little out of place.

Eliott doesn’t appear deterred by Lucas’ question in the slightest, of course, as he only shrugs. “What? I can’t just come say hi?”

_ Not really, _ Lucas thinks, _ that’s what couples do, couples like Daphné and Elena who are in love in a real and mutual kind of way. _

“Well, yeah, you can,” he says instead, smiles because it’s something, at least. He could have lost Eliott four days ago. Yet, here he is, still, smiling and wearing that same camel jacket he got for his seventeenth birthday that reminds Lucas of home and nights spent smoking messily rolled up joints in the tree house in Eliott’s back garden.

Eliott watches him for a moment, eyes inquisitive like he’s about to ask something, but someone else’s voice breaks through the film that has wrapped itself around them, instead, reminding them that they aren’t the only two people in the world, or here in the café Lucas works in.

“Oh! You’re Eliott?” It’s Elena, Lucas registers when he looks away from Eliott, who does the same, now directing his smile at Elena.

“I am,” he chuckles, “and you’re Elena. I’ve heard lots about you.”

Lucas realises, then, that Eliott and Elena have never met before now, which is absurd given how close Lucas is with Daphné and Eliott alike.

“Likewise,” Elena quips, “I’m so glad to finally meet you!”

“Yeah, of course, me too.”

Eliott is still grinning, and his eyes find their way back to Lucas again, there’s a glint behind them that’s too ill-defined for Lucas to try and figure out right now. So, Lucas looks away, and he says, “Eliott’s into art, too.”

“Ah no way!” Elena looks overjoyed with this information, her eyes glistening and her smile growing at a rate that shouldn’t even be humanly possible.

“Yeah, he’s really good.” Lucas thinks of the drawings pinned up not only on Eliott’s bedroom wall, but Lucas’, too. Sketches of sunsets and obscure abstract pieces that Lucas has to squint at to understand. Then the sillier ones, the doodles of racoons and hedgehogs Eliott has slipped into his backpack throughout the years, or left behind when he goes home at night and Lucas has already fallen asleep.

Lucas hears Eliott make a muffled grunting noise, looks to see his cheekbones tinted with dusty pink and decides it’s probably one of the purest things he’s ever seen.

“It’s true,” Lucas affirms. Because he knows Eliott wants to protest, wants to say something adorably modest like, _ I’m not that good, I only do it for fun, really, it’s silly. _

But he is good, like really fucking amazing at it, and everyone deserves to know that.

“I’m sure,” Elena smirks, but in a way that’s laced with nothing short of kindness. “I study fine art, you see, so I think we’ll get along great.”

All traces of apprehension seem to leave Eliott completely, his shoulders relaxing along with his smile. “Shit. That’s so cool,” he gasps a little, “I study film. I considered doing art as well, but, just I fell into this more, you know, so.”

Lucas falls silent as he watches the two engage in an almost animated conversation about their courses, how they somewhat interlink with each other. He still feels dumbfounded upon seeing Eliott, to a degree. Eliott, who is prattling on with Elena as if everything is fucking normal, as if they haven’t done what they did and Lucas feels so inconceivably confused. Feels deserted on the island that is his own turbulent thoughts because there is literally no one he can talk to about this—he can’t tell Yann, because he’d only get mad, and he certainly can’t speak to Eliott about it, and everyone else on the damn planet thinks Lucas and Eliott are dating, so that’s completely out of the question—and it’s _ gnawing _at him, like figuratively clawing at the surface of his skin. He doesn’t know what to do.

It’s then that Daphné retreats from the kitchen with a tray of freshly baked cupcakes.

“Babe,” Elena breaks away from her discussion with Eliott to address Daphné in a demanding tone. “How come you haven’t introduced me to Eliott before now? I can’t believe _ both of you,” _she points her finger between Lucas and Daphné with accusation, “have been sabotaging the blossoming of probably the most iconic friendship, like, ever.”

Eliott giggles. Lucas melts.

“I don’t know, I guess we’ve never been able to get you both in the same place before now,” Daphné speaks as she arranges her cupcakes neatly on a cake stand. “If I’d known you wanted to meet Eliott I would have introduced you. You never really come out with us though, so maybe that’s why.”

Elena rolls her eyes, but it’s entirely fond. “I told you! When this project is done, I’m all yours. We can go out any and every night of the week. I promise.”

Daphné smiles, “I know.”

Lucas can empathise. He knows what that’s like, when Eliott gets caught up in the midst of a project it’s almost impossible to get any life out of him—he may as well be poking a rock with a stick when Eliott has an upcoming deadline. It sucks. _ He misses him. _

“Hey!” Elena’s face suddenly brightens, Lucas thinks he sees her eyes sparkle a little. “Why don’t we all plan to meet up sometime? You know, like, a double date. It could be really fun! What do you think?”

_ A double date. _ Lucas thinks that sounds dreadful, like catastrophically terrible. A death wish in disguise.

He stares between Eliott and Elena with widened eyes, hopes when Eliott catches his pleading gaze that he understands what Lucas is trying to communicate—that going on a date, or a _ double date _, would undoubtedly be the worst thing they could possibly do right now, or ever.

Especially because it would be a fake date, with other people who will be asking them questions about them and their relationship that Lucas can’t and doesn’t want to have to answer.

Daphné gasps. “Yes! That sounds amazing! Oh yes! Please say yes!” She turns to Lucas and Eliott for a response, jumping giddily on the spot.

Lucas glares at Eliott harder, with as much subtlety as a person with no trace of subtlety in their bones can manage.

Clearly, it’s not enough, because Eliott glances away, smirking, and completely ignores Lucas’ desperation.

“Yeah, I’m up for that. Lucas?”

Lucas wants the ground to swallow him whole.

But he pushes his panic down, smiles sweetly and says, “Okay. Yeah, why not.” And he wonders how on earth he got himself into this big of a mess that seems to be getting harder to clean up with everyday that goes by.

*

They don’t talk about it, but it happens again.

It’s another Saturday, and Lucas had been exhausted after his eight-hour shift, but Arthur had suggested they all go out, because, _ you’ve been acting miserable for days, Lucas, you’re even making a dent in the sofa, we need to get out. _

The thought of it alone had made Lucas feel highly enervated, but he had caved, in the end, because he doesn’t want to be that one boring friend who never goes out.

They pile into one of the student clubs just off campus, because it’s cheap drinks all night and the music there is always good. It’s also incredibly crowded, almost to the point where it’s difficult to breathe. But once Lucas is four or five drinks in, renewing the buzz of the beer he had sunk back at the flat, the elbows that dig into his side and the sneakers that trample over his toes every so often become, to a degree, a lot more tolerable.

Lucas spends most of the night dancing with the guys’, and it’s fun, it’s easy. It’s easy to forget about the storm of chaos that’s been lashing in his head for weeks now.

By just after midnight, Lucas’ vision is hazy and his steps are clumsy and it’s good. Arthur had been right, like he mostly tends to be, it’s exactly what Lucas needed—to let loose, get out of the apartment for something other than work or uni.

But then, just as Lucas returns from the bathroom for another round of dancing, he’s a little surprised to find Eliott right there, by the bar looking as pretty as ever, his lips tinted a darker shade of pink than usual because he’s drinking a frozen strawberry daiquiri despite the fact that it’s winter and the thing is all ice.

“Hey,” Eliott grins down at him. Lucas stares back a little dumbly, wants to ask what Eliott is doing here, but sees Idriss and Sofiane dancing a few feet away, and then gets distracted by the way Eliott twirls the straw of his drink around in his mouth. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Lucas blinks. “Hi.”

Admittedly, Lucas is considerably along the lines of drunk at this stage—all swaying and bubbly, like he could float to the clouds and walk there. But that doesn’t stop him from grinning like a dumb idiot when Eliott giggles at his state.

“How much have you had to drink?” Eliott leans in to yell over the music. They’re close now, with the hustle of dancing bodies pushing them practically up against each other, and it distantly reminds Lucas of that night, the night he had Eliott pressed up against him in his bed.

Lucas’ breath hitches, but he doesn’t think Eliott notices with the intermittent strobe of lights that keep tainting their sight. He blinks the image away.

“Uh, a few. Maybe a lot,” Lucas admits, giggling softly when Eliott only rolls his eyes. “Hey! I’m okay though,” Lucas defends, “Look!” He proceeds to take a few steps back, just to showcase a few dance moves—the shuffling ones Alexia had taught him, once—just so Eliott can see he hasn’t completely fucked it. Lucas is fine.

“Okay,” Eliott nods, chuckling, “I see.”

“And you?” Lucas asks.

Eliott shrugs. “Same, a lot, maybe.”

Eliott’s eyes look bluer than ever under these lights, Lucas doesn’t even know how he notices it, but it reminds him a little of how the moon looks against the daytime sky—pale, but beautiful, still.

He doesn’t allow the discovery to transform into anything more than a transient thought.

“Dance with me,” Lucas says, instead, smirking, maybe feeling a little bold, with the alcohol settling comfortably in his veins. Eliott smiles back, small, a little timidly. “Come on!”

Eliott only returns his drink to his mouth, straw chewed at the tip by his teeth where it dangles loosely from his lips. Lucas has to force himself to blink away the thought of Eliott’s lips on his neck. Eliott sways from side-to-side a bit, teasingly, as though he’s too shy to dance when, really, Lucas knows it’s the exact opposite and he’s just being difficult for the sake of it.

Lucas rolls his eyes, then grips Eliott by the forearm and drags him deeper into the swarm on the dancefloor, Eliott’s laughter trailing behind them as they go.

Once settled neatly amidst the crowd, they begin to dance.

And Lucas thinks, as the song changes to something upbeat that he would usually hate, that the way Eliott’s skin seems to shimmer under the bright purple lights that cut through the darkness of the club is really quite beautiful, and it’s _ unfair _. Unfair that someone so breathtakingly stunning is at arm’s length, yet a million miles away all the same.

The song changes again, and Eliott moves closer. Lucas isn’t sure if it’s because the dancefloor has gotten busier, or because there’s something between them that pushes and pulls like a magnetic force. But either way, Lucas doesn’t protest, only clasps onto the sides of Eliott’s t-shirt as they dance, and, when the song shifts in beat and Eliott leans in to catch Lucas’ lips with his own, Lucas only presses up and closer.

It’s a little blurry to Lucas, after that, with the way Eliott kisses him on the dance floor until he feels dizzy.

He remembers the kissing. Recalls quite vividly, actually, the way Eliott had mumbled_ let’s get out of here, _ and how he had laced their hands together, dragging Lucas out of the club and into the first taxi he could find.

The next thing they’re back at Eliott’s apartment, stumbling up the stairs, giggling and then hushing each other when it grows too loud. Then, they’re inside, and Eliott is pressing Lucas up against the wall and kissing him there, senselessly, until Lucas can’t take it any longer and they’re staggering further into the apartment and into Eliott’s bedroom.

As Eliott pushes Lucas into the sheets, climbing over him and kissing down his neck, Lucas breathing heavily, he thinks, foggily, that this is probably an extremely terrible idea, a detrimental one, in fact. But Lucas is drunk, and perhaps a little horny, too, and Eliott is pulling his own t-shirt off, tugging at Lucas’ afterwards and then pressing hot kisses along his abdomen.

So. Lucas pushes the thoughts away.

He lets his panic float away with the moans that drift throughout the room and spill out from Eliott’s open window. And when Eliott pulls Lucas’ jeans down, his boxers following shortly after, and takes Lucas into his mouth, Lucas shuts his eyes and lets the pleasure stomp out the flames his thoughts are trying desperately to set alight.

“Shit, Eliott,” Lucas gasps out when Eliott slides his tongue slowly along his length, the pressure of it settling deep into his bones, his thighs trembling, heart thumping. Eliott hums at his tip, and the vibration it causes to race throughout Lucas’ body evokes another moan.

_ How is this happening again? _Lucas wonders when Eliott does a thing with his tongue that sends him into a downward spiral.

Lucas is close, like embarrassingly so, his moans now high-pitched as they pour out from the back of his throat. But somehow, he doesn’t really care. Not like this, with Eliott hovering over him, his eyelashes pretty and dark against his cheekbones. It’s a little obscene, the picture it makes, Lucas thinks about how, if he were as good of an artist as Eliott, he would probably paint it and hang it from every wall of his apartment.

When Lucas comes, his mind hazes over entirely, he doesn’t even register the fact that Eliott doesn’t pull off, or the soft words of encouragement he murmurs into the inside of Lucas’ thigh afterwards.

“I have to—” Lucas mumbles, hands searching frantically for Eliott when the clouds in his head begin to subside. “Have to—” he breathes pushing himself up on his elbows when he finds Eliott’s shoulder, heart still beating rapidly as he attempts to pull Eliott back to eye level.

Eliott looks up from where he had been pressing small kisses to the inside of Lucas’ thigh, and, as though he can read Lucas’ mind, says, “Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, “I already—” he tapers off, biting his bottom lip a little ashamedly. “Already came.”

And _ fuck _—Eliott had gotten himself off to getting Lucas off. The knowledge of such almost has Lucas growing hard again, but at this point he’s so exhausted all his body can manage is a shuddering breath.

He falls back onto the bed again, lids feeling heavy, bones weak almost to the point of aching, but in a good way. Eliott falls down next to him, peeling the duvet from under them and tucking it up to Lucas’ chin.

Lucas hums happily, it’s nice, warm. His head feels so heavy.

“Goodnight, Lucas,” Lucas hears Eliott whisper, but it’s cloudy, distant. He wants to tell Eliott how good he feels, how he’s the only person that can make Lucas feel this way, thinks about how easy it would be to say _ I love you _ right now.

He’s already asleep before he has the chance. 

It’s for the best, probably.

*

Lucas wakes reluctantly, like he’s shedding fragments of his dream in hazy parts, as though he knows he should open his eyes. But he can’t quite force himself to commit to the act, to resurface from the safe little world his dreams create.

The room is bathed in a soft white, condensation on the window giving off the illusion of snow outside. It melts into the cool blues of the morning in a way that’s comforting, but bright, too, _ far too bright. _ And, although the sight is cold, Lucas feels warm all over, feels how his skin is _ burning _.

Burning from where it’s pressed up against the heat of another body.

Lucas wakes slowly, and then all at once, eyes snapping open to the sensation of skin against skin, his back pressed up against a chest, firm arms holding him there. Panic seeps into Lucas’ chest, now acutely aware of the person hugging him from behind, lips parted at the nape of his neck. With great alarm, Lucas cranes his neck to the side, but carefully, still, as to not wake the other person up.

And it hits Lucas, then, like a punch to the gut, that he had come home with Eliott, last night, and the events that followed. How Eliott had kissed him in the club, how he had brought Lucas home and swallowed him down until he was fisting the bedsheets and keening into the still of the empty apartment.

Lucas jolts at the realisation, breath catching in his throat when Eliott stirs slightly in his sleep. Lucas stills, heaviness pooling in the pit of his stomach, praying that the universe can do just one nice thing for him and make sure Eliott doesn’t wake up.

Thankfully, he doesn’t. And despite the fact that Lucas kind of wants to lie here with Eliott forever, he compels himself to untangle from Eliott and the bedsheets with no further disturbances. He gathers his clothes stealthily, a practiced motion, almost as though he’s done this before. He hasn’t, really, not a lot.

Lucas feels a little bad, as he slips out of Eliott’s room and then out of the apartment. Even considers, briefly, going back and waking Eliott up, talking about it.

But the thought is terrifying. They had been drunk, just like the last time. And the last time, Eliott had left, he hadn’t said anything and he just left, leaving Lucas confused and drowning within his own spiral of turmoil.

Facing up to the fact that it’s happened again, while his head is throbbing so hard he can’t even walk in a straight line towards the bus stop, is something Lucas just really doesn’t want to deal with right now. Or—like, ever.

The bus ride home is a disaster, Lucas must _ look _ a disaster. At seven in the morning, in last night's crumpled clothes, hair a mess, deep marks on his neck. The elderly woman that gets on at the next stop studies Lucas suspiciously, like she’s judging his current state—Lucas doesn’t even blame her, he’s judging himself, too.

He’s fucked everything up, yet again.

And, Lucas decides, as he eventually arrives home and manages to complete the onerous task of unlocking his apartment door, stumbling down the hallway into his bedroom, that he should really start staying in on Saturday nights.

*

Lucas wonders, as he walks alongside Eliott and as their feet trudge through the damp wilted leaves that have sunken into the pavement below them, if this is going to keep happening.

This, meaning, them getting each other off and then not talking about it.

Eliott, again, hadn’t said anything about Lucas staying over the other night, and so Lucas had kept his mouth shut, too. It isn’t healthy, Lucas is painfully aware of that. But what else does he do? What does he do when the risk of losing Eliott is too grave, too real?

And Lucas can’t lose Eliott, can’t face the thought of not having him in his life like he does now.

“What are you thinking about?” Eliott asks next to him, nudging their shoulders together.

Lucas panics and says, “nothing,” a bit too quickly, which only results in the side eyes from Eliott.

“Are you annoyed with me?” he mumbles, hands twisting together nervously.

Lucas’ head whips to the side to look at Eliott properly. “What?” he clamours, “Of course not, no. Why would you think that?”

_ Is it because you kissed me when nobody was around, because we slept together and never spoke about it, because it keeps happening and you keep forgetting, or pretending to forget? _

Lucas, in a way, wishes he hadn’t asked, because right now, as they approach the ice-cream parlor Daphné texted to meet at for their double date, to unravel that tangle of threads is the last thing he wants to do currently.

“Because I agreed to this date thing,” Eliott explains a little guiltily. “I know you think it’s a bad idea. It probably is. But I just wanted to get to know Elena a bit better, you know? She seems cool, and I don’t see Daphné as much as I’d like, either. I just thought it would be fun, hanging out with some new people.”

“That’s okay,” Lucas says, panic simmering down but only slightly, knowing they won’t have to talk about it for at least another day. “It’s okay for you to want to hang out with different people, of course it is. I just don’t want things to get too messy, you know, with this thing.”

He doesn’t mention the fact that things are already a mess to the point beyond repair.

Eliott falls silent for a few moments, lips pursed like he’s mulling something over. Lucas watches him carefully, how he looks at his feet while they walk and not at Lucas.

“I know, they won’t. Promise,” he eventually settles on.

Lucas nudges him back with his shoulder, “Well, if you _ promise _,” he teases.

“Fuck off,” Eliott huffs, chuckling. “But seriously. Just think of it as four friends hanging out, doesn’t have to be anything more, right? It’s chill.”

_ Right, _ as Lucas keeps being reminded, _ friends. _

“Yeah. Chill.”

When they arrive at the ice-cream place, Daphné and Elena are already inside at one of the booths. Lucas and Eliott sit down opposite them, everyone exchanging greetings and falling into an easy conversation.

“Is there a reason you decided for us to meet for ice-cream in the middle of winter, Daphy?” Lucas scrunches his nose at the menu, “Seriously, it’s like minus two degrees outside.”

Daphné rolls her eyes, “This place is cute!” she defends, “Plus, you don’t even have to get ice-cream, they do all kinds of desserts, too.”

Lucas sighs, flicking his gaze back to the menu hopelessly. He then glances over to Eliott, “What are you getting?” he asks, leaning in closer to read Eliott’s menu as though it will tell him something his own isn’t.

“A chocolate sundae, I think,” Eliott rests his chin onto the top of Lucas’ head.

“Of course you are,” Lucas scoffs teasingly.

“What?” Eliott giggles into Lucas’ hair.

Lucas pulls away to level him with a serious look, “Ice-cream in winter is weird, Eliott.” It only earns him a small pout from Eliott, Lucas almost, _ almost _, coos at the sight. He holds himself back.

“You two are so damn cute, I swear,” Elena’s voice cuts into the little bubble they always seem to create around themselves without even noticing.

And this, sitting across from their friends, being told how in love and cute they are together, feels all too familiar. The only difference now is that there is no Yann around to glare daggers into him as it all unfolds. For that, Lucas is only slightly grateful.

Lucas is just about to brush it off, he really is, but Eliott beats him to it, throwing an arm around Lucas’ shoulders and pulling him close, grinning stupidly.

“Well, we try,” Eliott says, nuzzling his nose into the hair at the side of Lucas’ head. Lucas hates how he leans into it so automatically.

“You just got us on a good day,” Lucas jokes, feels like the only thing he can do, really, his self-destructive coping mechanisms coming out in full force.

Daphné screws her face up incredulously, “Nonsense,” she waves him off, “You two are by far the cutest couple out of all our friends, seriously. The way you look at each other.”

Lucas has the urge to remind her that has nothing to do with the fact that he and Eliott are _ together _ and more to do with the fact that they’ve just always been that way. They’re best friends, Eliott doesn’t look at Lucas any differently than he did six months ago or even six years ago now that they’re supposedly dating.

He decides against it, though. Which—well, is probably for the best.

“How did you two get together, then?” Elena asks. “Daph mentioned you’ve been friends for quite a while, so how did you realise you actually felt more?”

Lucas’ stomach drops, he thinks he can feel his heart begin to beat so high in his throat he might throw up. Like he’s been flung into the sea head first with no life jacket and the waves of questions submerge him deeper and faster into the harsh currents of panic and uncertainty.

As always, however, Eliott is right there, hand pulling him out from the raging ocean and back to safe ground. Or—a semblance of safety, at least.

“Well, yeah. We’ve known each other for like, twelve years. It’s crazy,” Eliott explains, his arm falling from Lucas’ shoulders to rest along his waist, instead. It burns. “I guess I didn’t really see it coming. Falling for Lucas, I mean. One day we were best friends, and then next I’m watching him laugh over something incredibly dumb, and all I can think is that the thought of ever losing him, not having him in my life, seems like the most terrifying thing in the world. And I was scared, at first, didn’t entirely know what the feeling was, and I had no idea if Lucas even felt the same. It was a shot in the dark, completely. But, we talked, eventually. And he did, does.”

Daphné and Elena are completely engrossed in what Eliott is saying, hanging off his every word. Lucas can relate to that, to falling victim to the way Eliott can make anything sound like it has been written by poets or sung by angels.

“And now it’s like, how did I not see it before, you know?” Eliott continues. “It’s always been there, with us. I guess.”

Lucas sneaks a glance at Eliott to find him already looking at him. The look on his face is calm, smile soft, his eyes saying something Lucas can’t figure out. He looks away.

Elena coos at them, and Lucas definitely thinks he sees Daphné’s eyes dampen, which he decidedly chooses to ignore.

Realistically, Lucas shouldn’t feel so off balance, because he and Eliott have discussed this—how they ‘_ got together _’. It was to be something that had been beginning to surface for a while, which is exactly what Eliott has just said. He doesn’t know why the words hurt so much. Maybe it’s the longing of wanting them to be true that seethe in his blood and stifle the regular pattern of his heartbeats.

Maybe he just really wants Eliott to love him like he says he does.

“That’s adorable,” Elena sighs.

Eliott hums, squeezing Lucas’ hip gently where his hand still rests.

And Lucas can’t help but think that Eliott is strangely good at pretending to be in love with him, how he’s able to throw words around bereft of any reluctance, like it means nothing at all.

The words sit cold, settled harshly into Lucas’ chest like ice.

Finally, the waitress stops at their table to take their orders, putting a halt to the interrogations. Lucas lets himself breathe a little easier.

He orders a hot chocolate.

*

“Did you do the reading?”

Lucas glances up from his phone to find Julien, a boy on his course, has taken a seat next to him in the lecture theatre. Lucas doesn’t know how long he’s been there for, he had been too engrossed in his Instagram feed, since he arrived at his lecture fifteen minutes early and had nothing else to do.

Or, well, clearly, he did. “There was additional reading?”

Julien laughs. “Well. Yes. There’s readings for every lecture.”

Lucas knew that, already. “I’m just lazy, then, I guess,” he admits, shrugging.

This isn’t the first time Julien has approached Lucas, and it’s not like Lucas doesn’t like the guy, he just finds their interactions mildly uncomfortable. Because he can tell. He sees how Julien’s gaze lingers on him for a beat too long to be considered a coincidence, how he flirts, sometimes. And Lucas can sense that maybe Julien always wants to say or ask him something that he’s too afraid to, too nervous to.

The thought of anyone besides Eliott showing interest in Lucas makes his stomach twist. Which is a huge inconvenience, really, when he knows he and Eliott will never happen. Not for real, anyways.

Sometimes Lucas wonders what it would be like if he could reciprocate that. If Julien was to ask him on a date and he said yes. How, if it went well, they would go on a couple more, then Julien would ask Lucas to be his boyfriend, and they would tell each other, _ I love you _ , and things could be so easy. He could live _ normally _, have someone who actually loves him like he loves them.

Lucas knows, though, that it would only be unfair, to Julien or anyone like him, because Lucas is sure he won’t ever be able to make himself love anyone like he loves Eliott. As pathetic as that sounds, it’s the sad truth.

“Don’t worry, this one was pointless, anyway,” Julien provides.

Lucas tuts, “You better be right, otherwise you’re going to want to fling yourself out of that window, with the amount of questions I’ll be asking during this lecture.”

Julien laughs again, loud enough that the two girls sat in front turn their heads briefly.

“I don’t think I’d mind that, actually.” He winks, Lucas forces himself to smile back.

The lecture is boring, and once twelve o’clock hits, Lucas is shoving his laptop into his backpack in a haste and pushing past the big double doors of the lecture hall. He’s already thinking about what he’ll have for lunch, since he hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast this morning, but someone calling his name causes him to stop just as he’s about to step out of the main building.

“Lucas! Wait up!” they yell. Lucas turns to see Julien jogging up to him, out of breath. “Sorry, hey,” he pants, now standing right in front of Lucas.

“Everything okay?” Lucas asks, looking down to Julien’s fidgeting hands to check whether he’s got one of Lucas’ pens, or something, any reasonable explanation for why he might have stopped him other than the one he dreadfully thinks it might be.

Julien nods, “Uh, yeah,” he says with a breath. “Just,” he looks to the side nervously, then, “Are you doing anything this weekend? There’s this show on that I’ve been wanting to go see for a while, and I thought maybe you’d want to go together?”

He watches Lucas expectantly, and, wholeheartedly, Lucas feels bad. He does. Julien seems lovely, really, like he would probably pay for Lucas’ ticket and his food, too. Like he would pick him up in his car even though Paris traffic sucks, just so Lucas wouldn’t have to take the bus in the cold.

Julien seems like the perfect guy, in all honesty. Just not Lucas’ guy.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas says sadly, “I can’t.”

Julien’s face falls, “Oh, you’re busy this weekend?”

Lucas doesn’t know why he says it, why he lies. It’s not like Julien knows of his and Eliott’s situation, or about Marco, but something about pretending even when Eliott or Marco aren’t around makes things feel just a tiny bit real. Maybe, Lucas just likes to live in a deep stage of denial where he can pretend he and Eliott are actually together. So, he says, “I’m seeing someone right now, actually.”

Doesn’t say, _ yes, sorry, I am busy this weekend _ , or, _ I’m not really looking for anything right now. S _omething easier, something truthful.

“Oh,” Julien replies. “Don’t worry, another time, then, maybe?” Lucas doesn’t respond, only smiles tightly, a little pitifully, until Julien just nods, “I won’t push it, don’t worry.”

_ Well isn’t that nice, _ Lucas thinks, as they start walking again, conversation drifting back to the tedious content of their lecture as they fall into step along the pathway outside the building.

But then someone is shouting, “Lucas!” from somewhere to the side, and Lucas has to ask himself why this keeps happening today.

Lucas turns, and he’s a little shocked but, then again, not really, to see Eliott there, leaning up against the wall opposite the building with two paper coffee cups in each hand. And Lucas can’t help the way his mood suddenly sky rockets from where it had once been plummeted to the floor, how he grins like the biggest idiot on earth at the mere sight of Eliott, here, picking him up from class without even discussing it first like that’s completely normal.

Although, then Lucas remembers Julien, who is still lingering next to him. Lucas turns to him, “Sorry, I gotta—” he gestures flippantly with his hand in the direction of Eliott. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Julien flicks a glance over to Eliott curiously, but he doesn’t make any comments, just says, “Sure. Of course,” and so Lucas smiles once more, and makes his way over to Eliott.

He’s vastly aware of how Julien doesn’t move, how his eyes burn into Lucas’ back as he wanders over to Eliott, who is smiling at Lucas with a soft curiosity. He looks pretty like that, smile delicate, fond, almost.

Perhaps, that’s why, when Lucas is close enough to murmur a quiet, “Hey,” he doesn’t wait for Eliott to even respond before he’s rising up onto his tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his lips. His intent had been chaste, but Eliott hums in surprise, and wraps one arm around Lucas’ neck, careful not to spill any coffee, and keeps him in place. And so the kiss deepens, but only briefly, only as much as Lucas lets it before he pulls away.

“Oh hi,” Eliott breathes.

Lucas sees the glint of shock in Eliott’s eyes, but it’s transient, almost as though it doesn’t want to be seen. It sparks like a match only to simmer and burn out in the blink of an eye.

“Hi,” Lucas blushes, thinks he probably should have warned Eliott before stalking up and just kissing him out of nowhere. But he tells himself it’s only because he knows Julien had been watching, and maybe kissing Eliott in front of him will be the obvious hint that he isn’t interested.

Eliott chuckles, softly, then says, “I got this for you.” He holds out one of the coffee cups for Lucas to take, then reaching onto the wall behind him, pulls out a paper bag, “And these. I figured you haven’t eaten yet today.”

Lucas takes the bag to inspect, finds inside two croissants and feels his heart swell. And it’s stupid, really, that such a simple gesture causes him to feel so much. But, then again, most things Eliott tends to do makes Lucas melt at the seams.

He looks up cautiously, “What’s the catch?”

Eliott laughs breathily. “No catch,” he says, shaking his head.

“And what if I’ve already eaten?” Lucas challenges.

The thing about Eliott, is that his heart, as pure and incandescent as it is, emits an uncertainty that wreaks havoc with Lucas’ head. It’s the confusion that takes root and blooms into a tangled rage of intricate vines. Because, although it’s a cute gesture—coming to meet Lucas after class with croissants and a latte—it’s also something Eliott would do for anyone. He’s just lovely that way, kind, and Lucas is nobody special, really, just a mess of a boy who forgets to eat breakfast sometimes. Or a lot of the time.

“You haven’t,” Eliott responds with certainty.

It blows Lucas’ mind, sometimes, how well Eliott seems to know him.

“How do you know?”

Eliott looks to the side, lips pursed into a small smile. “Because I know you,” he says.

Lucas shuts up after that, mainly because he thinks if he tries to speak his voice might crack, or something as equally embarrassing along those lines. He accepts the food with a small _ thank you, _and even lets Eliott steal a few bites of his croissant on the walk home.

It’s when they’re just nearing Lucas’ apartment that Eliott clears his throat. The sound is a little out of place, forced like he’s testing his own voice before speaking.

“Who was that guy?” he asks. “Back there. Outside the lecture theatre.”

Lucas can’t help the way he grips the cup of his latte a little tighter at the mention of Julien, the wave that washes over him is strange and hard to define, unsettling perhaps, but unbeknownst why.

“Oh,” he says, “Julien? He’s just in my class.”

Eliott hums, steps slowing as they get closer to Lucas’ apartment as though he doesn’t want the conversation to end just yet.

“Just?”

His expression is fairly blank, save for the slight arch of his eyebrows. Curious, just.

“What do you mean?” Lucas asks.

Eliott shrugs, “I mean, like, is there something between you two? He looked pretty bummed out when you came over to me.”

_ When you came over to me, when you came over and kissed me. _

“No,” Lucas says, shaking his head, still tangled in chaos. “Well, I mean, I don’t know,” then, again but quieter, “I don’t know.”

_ I don’t want there to be, not as long as there’s you. _ But, _ I’ll never really get to have you, will I? _

“Why?” Lucas dares to question, feels bold enough to ask, this time, for once.

They stop just outside Lucas’ apartment building, facing each other on the steps with their sneakers almost touching but not quite.

“Just,” Eliott sighs, looks up to the sky like it holds all of the answers to his worries. Looking back, he says, “You’ll tell me if you want to stop this thing we’re doing won’t you? I keep thinking about how shit this must be for you, not being able to see other people. Like, what if I’m stopping you from meeting someone really good, your soulmate, or whatever, because you’re stuck in this with me. I could be fucking your entire life up and we don’t even know it.”

Lucas thinks that, although a rational concern, Eliott doesn’t really have much to worry about, not with that. Not when _ he’s _the one Lucas wants to be with.

“Soulmates don’t exist,” Lucas tells Eliott instead. And then, “You’re not fucking anything up.”

_ It’s me who is doing that all on my own, feeling the way I do about you and letting this continue until we inevitably hit self-destruct. _

Eliott chuckles, but there isn’t much humour behind it at all. “Of course they do.” They’ve had this argument before. “I’ve met mine.”

Lucas rolls his eyes, it’s soft, teasing. He doesn’t really want to think about how in love Eliott is with Marco today.

“I’ll call you later, okay?”

Eliott nods, humming, smile pretty under the early afternoon winter light.

“Okay.”

*

“So. How’s Eliott?”

Lucas looks up from his laptop, freezes amidst the practiced art of chewing his Doritos as stealthily as possible given the library’s no food policy.

He and Yann had decided to study together during the gap they have in their respective classes, which, in all honesty, was turning out to be quite the terrible idea, since Yann won’t quit being a massive distraction.

Lucas swallows, narrowing his eyes at Yann from across the table, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What’s what supposed to mean?” Yann feigns nonchalance, smirking down at his textbook. “I’m just asking a question.”

Lucas huffs, “Yeah, well. You said it weirdly.”

Admittedly, perhaps Lucas is coming across as minorly defensive. But he tends to get this way, you see, about the whole Eliott thing, and the fact that Yann knows more than Lucas is comfortable with him knowing. Not that he knows _ everything _, that is. Doesn’t know about all the times Lucas and Eliott have slept together, all the unnecessary kisses. The fact that neither of them have spoken about it.

“I want to know how my friend is doing, is that not okay?”

Lucas rolls his eyes in defeat. “Eliott is fine,” he answers. “Why don’t you ask him yourself how he’s doing, if you’re so concerned?”

Yann only laughs. Lucas would never admit how much he appreciates the fact that Yann always gets that there is no malice in Lucas’ words whatsoever when he’s acting a little snappy.

“You’re cute,” Yann says, flicking the lid of his highlighter at Lucas, missing his head by a mere inch and getting a glare in return. “Now tell me how things are between you two.”

Lucas is the one who laughs this time. “Oh, so that’s really what you wanted to know?” he teases, tries to push down the panic in his stomach that usually tends to surface whenever he talks about the thing with Eliott.

Yann glares at him.

“It’s okay, same old. You know,” Lucas says, his delivery flippant, but in an attempt to not give too much away, just. Yann always has been able to see straight through him.

“Not really,” Yann responds, a look thrown Lucas’ way that says, _ tell me _, that is, quite frankly, a little terrifying. “Is he talking with Marco again?”

Lucas doesn’t know why, when Yann asks the question, he comes up so short. And it isn’t like Lucas hasn’t noticed the way, when he brings up how things are progressing with Marco, he’s usually shut down or brushed off. _ It’s fine, _ Eliott will say, _ it’s getting there, just a little more time, I’ve got things under control. _

Usually, Lucas just nods, says _ okay, _ and lets the topic drift to something else. Maybe the lack of communication on the issue is a gift, in a sense. Lucas doesn’t think he’d be able to listen to how Marco has been texting Eliott, asking after him, thinking of ways to get him back. The thought sits uneasy in Lucas’ stomach. Maybe Lucas just doesn’t _ want _ to know, doesn’t want to think about the fact that, although he _ knew _ that this arrangement he and Eliott have was never meant to last longer than a few weeks, it will end eventually.

Especially doesn’t want to think about the fact that it’s extended way past the length of time it was initially planned to.

“A little, I think. I don’t know,” Lucas admits, ashamed, maybe. Ashamed that he’s let himself fall into such a mess and he knows it.

Yann folds his arms over the table to lean a little closer. “What do you mean you don’t know?” he frowns, “Haven’t you spoken about it?”

Lucas recalls, vaguely, already having this conversation with Yann, or Eliott. Both, likely. And he thinks that it’s all becoming highly repetitive—all the questions and the sad looks. Lucas is fully aware of how pathetic he is, how foolish he’s being with his heart and with Eliott’s, too, but it is a little like an addiction, you see. There’s something about Eliott that compels Lucas to act like a besotted idiot with absolutely zero rationale. How the force of his presence sucks Lucas up, entrancing, hypnotizing, how it spirals and twists him around in a vigorous descent until the ropes are cut and he’s falling and falling and falling. It’s dangerous, to be stuck within a magnetic field so powerful, so tantalizing.

Lucas is fucking petrified.

“I don’t really ask for the details, Yann, to be honest. I just don’t fucking _ want _ to know about how Marco is going to come running back and sweep Eliott off his feet. Yeah. No thanks.” He exists out of a few of his web browser tabs mindlessly, a little frustratedly, maybe so he doesn’t really have to meet Yann’s concerned gaze.

“Sorry,” Yann says, “I told you I wasn’t going to lecture you about this whole thing, remember?” Lucas nods. “So, I won’t.”

He announces it very simply, and Lucas’ heart drops, because, if he’s being plainly honest, maybe he had been hoping Yann would try and kick some sense back into him. Maybe that’s what Lucas _ needs _.

Yann must catch onto Lucas’ sudden look of dejection, as he lets out a muffled laugh. “Or, maybe you want my advice? Is that it, Lulu?”

Lucas rolls his eyes stubbornly.

“No,” he huffs, folding his arms.

Yann raises his eyebrows, “Okay,” he hums incredulously, now back to flipping through his textbook with his lips twitching upwards with the hint of a smirk. Lucas swears Yann is pure evil.

Lucas sighs. “Alright,” he surrenders, “A little advice, maybe.”

This seems to get Yann to perk up, as he shuts his book and grins at Lucas smugly. “What can I help you with?”

Lucas thinks, _ more than you could ever imagine. _ Debates telling Yann about how he’s slept with Eliott. Twice. But shuts that thought down immediately. Then thinks about possibly telling him about Julien, and the date he had asked Lucas on. However, Lucas has an inkling that Yann would tell him to go on the date, and the thought of doing as such sounds horrific to Lucas.

In the end, Lucas settles on the forefront of said issues, and he asks, “Do you think I should be worried that this has been going on for too long, that maybe Marco is all talk and is just going to break Eliott’s heart all over again? Because I don’t think I could watch that happen again, I couldn’t, Yann. You saw how broken up he was last time, it breaks _ my _ fucking heart.”

Lucas can’t help the way his eyes dampen slightly when he thinks back to all the times Eliott has shown up at his front door, eyes bloodshot, tear marks etched painfully to his cheeks, crashing into Lucas’ arms as he mumbles, _ he left me, he left me again, everyone always leaves. _

That’s something Lucas never wants to see in his life ever again.

“You know,” Yann says, grin now replaced with something softer. It isn’t disdainful, though, it’s patient, caring. “You’re too good, Lucas. Too good.”

Lucas chuckles bitterly. If only Yann knew how fucked up Lucas really is.

And as though Yann can read Lucas’ thoughts, he continues, “What? You don’t believe that? You’re literally helping the dude you’re in love with get back with his asshole ex because you care about him that much.”

Lucas scoffs, “If I was that good of a person, I wouldn’t be helping Eliott get back together with an asshole in the first place. Think about it, Yann.”

“It isn’t about that, Lucas.”

Yann shakes his head when Lucas only frowns with confusion at the words.

“You’re putting your own feelings aside for Eliott’s happiness, and, although you know I’ve always stood behind the fact that you should tell Eliott how you really feel. I think that’s brave. Really brave, in fact—giving up the person you love to someone else.”

Lucas thinks it’s quite cowardly, actually. If Lucas was brave, he would tell Eliott not to get back with Marco, he’d tell him how he feels.

So. Lucas isn’t brave—not even one infinitesimal bone in Lucas’ body is brave.

He’s a coward, but that’s on him. He supposes.

He tells Yann as such.

“So, tell him, then.”

It’s said so easily, like Lucas confessing his love for Eliott is something as simple as going to the store to get milk when you run out.

“You are so not using reverse psychology on me right now.”

Yann chuckles, “I just think you should tell him, man. You never know what would happen.”

Lucas does know—knows the various outcomes that could result from telling Eliott. None of them ending in reciprocation, and all of them ending in him losing Eliott. Ending in heartache.

“I do know,” Lucas sighs, “It will always be Marco, for Eliott.”

*

“Are we going to talk about it?”

They’re on the sofa when Eliott asks it, _ Legally Blonde _ playing on the television because it was Eliott’s turn to pick the movie, of course. Lucas is sitting with Eliott’s head on his lap, and the rhythm his fingers had been making as they run through Eliott’s hair hesitate when the words settle in place.

“Talk about what?” Lucas draws his eyes away from the movie and lets them fall to Eliott, who is already looking up at him.

Eliott sighs, teeth biting at his chapped bottom lip. “You know what,” he says, voice quiet and a little pleading, timid. Like he’s begging, _ don’t make me say it. _

Like he’s scared to say it.

They stare at each other momentarily, Lucas thinks it’s the most intense Eliott has ever looked at him in their twelve years of friendship. He reaches up to untangle Lucas’ hand from his hair and laces their fingers together. Usually, the gesture is comforting, but right now, it feels ominous.

Lucas is the first to look away, “You need to say it,” he whispers. He needs to be sure they’re thinking of the same thing, to be totally certain that they’re about to have this conversation.

He was right when he told himself he could never be ready for it.

Eliott sighs again and sits up. He moves so he’s facing Lucas on the sofa with his legs crossed, but he doesn’t let go of Lucas’ hand. Lucas can’t decide whether he’s thankful for it or not.

“That night of the neon party, we—” Eliott pauses, looks to the window distantly, his breath flowing visibly unsteadily.

_ This is it, _ Lucas thinks _ , I’m not ready, not ready to lose you. To lose this. _

“—we got off on each other.” He whispers it, like it’s a bit of a dirty secret. It is, in a way, maybe.

Lucas is definitely shedding embarrassing layers of sweat from his own palm onto Eliott’s at this point. He’s grateful that Eliott doesn’t mention it.

“I thought you didn’t remember,” Lucas murmurs, voice shaking despite its low volume.

Eliott sighs, “I did. Do.”

Lucas can’t look anywhere but at the way their joined hands rest on Eliott’s thigh.

“You didn’t say anything.”

He was so _sure _ Eliott wouldn’t say anything.

“Neither did you.”

It’s a fair point, Lucas will admit.

Eliott continues, “And then there was the time after the club, when we came back here and I—”

_ And I sucked you off _. He doesn’t say it, but Lucas knows they’re both thinking it.

“Yeah,” Lucas breathes out. _ Fuck. _

Despite the fear that swims deep within Lucas’ veins, he reminds himself to hold nonchalance. Showing his panic only makes him vulnerable, it will show Eliott that it meant something—and from there it’s only a matter of time before the dots are connected.

“Is it going to keep happening?” Eliott asks.

The panic that takes over is paralyzing. Lucas imagines this is how it feels to fall overboard, how the once golden rays of sun that surf off the sea’s waves are reduced to a soft diffused glow, how the deep blue swallows it whole. Lucas pictures himself swimming deeper, being pushed under so far until the silhouette of his lifeboat fades and then dies along with the hope of light. And it’s cold, too, cold like you would think the ocean would be, but then colder, again.

When Eliott looks to the floor, Lucas thinks of himself glancing upwards towards the surface, but it seems so far removed now, and his heart rate only rises.

And when Lucas says, “Do you want it to?” he doesn’t think he’s ever been this deep before.

He wants to kick, to use all his force to swim back to surface with powerful strokes. But a voice cautions softly, it warns him not to rise too fast, to just breathe.

But how does Lucas breathe when he has no air, how does he scream when there is nobody but the lone fish around to hear him?

_ Why are you doing this? _ the voice screams, _ why are you doing this to yourself? _

The thing is, when Lucas thinks about it, it isn’t that weird. Maybe he’s being delusional, but casual hook ups aren’t out of the ordinary. Lucas knows Eliott has had a few, and Lucas has, or tried, at least, too.

_ Casual _, is the key word, however. And Lucas can so do casual. Because to be honest, when he thinks about the pros and cons, being able to feign casual while still having Eliott in this way sounds a lot better than admitting they shouldn’t have done it and allowing it to form an awkward wedge between them.

“What are you saying?” Eliott questions, curious.

Lucas takes a deep breath. _ Casual _ , _ remember. _

“What I’m saying is. It’s not like—it’s not like we can sleep with anyone else, while this is going on. It doesn’t have to mean anything, right? If it does happen again. It isn’t really a surprise, when we’re kissing and stuff, it was bound to happen eventually. Doesn’t have to change anything.”

Eliott looks away, eyes finding interest in the movie once again even though neither of them have been paying attention for the last five minutes, now. Although, Lucas knows Eliott has seen it enough times to still be able to understand what is going on, anyway.

“It won’t change anything?” Eliott asks, Lucas almost misses the way Eliott holds his breath.

Lucas shakes his head, squeezes Eliott’s hand firmly and swears, “Nothing. I promise.”

Eliott smiles, eventually. It’s a little strained, but it’s fine, Lucas thinks his own probably is, too.

“Okay. That’s good, then,” Eliott says.

Lucas purposely doesn’t think about the fact that he’s never actually ever learned how to swim, how the possibility of drowning is now greater than ever. How, when Eliott pulls him into a hug and calls them both idiots for not mentioning it sooner because _ you’re right, it isn’t a big deal _, his heart slips out of his chest and sinks to the bottom of the ocean like the wreckage of a ship.

It doesn’t have to mean anything,_ it doesn’t. _ And, if it, by some chance, does happen again— _ it’s casual. _

Lucas can do casual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what u think, and come say hi on tumblr - [@lumierelovers](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thank u so so much to everyone who is still invested in this despite the fact i take 85 years with each update. i love u love u love u!!!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet with my horrendous track record u didn't expect to see this update so soon!! i also, ahggh, scared abt the pacing of this?? multichaptered fics are _hard_ man. ugh. anyways, i added friends with benefits to the tags. i hope you enjoy this one 💛

It keeps happening, after that.

By some peculiar law of attraction, it happens again—or, a handful of times. And, like Lucas had said, it’s _casual__. _ So casual, in fact, that Lucas hasn’t allowed himself to fall into anymore pathetic downward spirals of overthinking like he did the first few times.

Despite this, though, Lucas still doesn’t necessarily like to let his mind wander too far into the details of it all, because quite frankly, the entire thing is a little terrifying.

But it happens like how the sun sets and rises during its cycle.

The sun rises in soft explosions of marigold, it renders an arcane outburst of passion that starts off cool in tone at its root, but swiftly transmutes and burns, even at the cusp of winter. And while in the minutes just before, Lucas may be reduced to the vague lines of a silhouette, the rays of gold as strong as they are, touch his skin, and he is able to prosper in every colour he longs to be. If even just momentarily.

Then, with the setting of the sun, comes a fire, a battle cry into the fast approaching night. Darkness lives to portray starlight, and, while the stars are magical and otherworldly in their core, they are miles away, still.

So. The sun rises like Eliott takes Lucas apart under the sheets, and it’s everything. Lucas _ feels _ everything. It burns his cold skin and it reminds him how much he can feel. But the sun must set, eventually. And when it does it comes quickly, the light that lives in Lucas’ chest fizzles to darkness. And then Lucas is left feeling empty, like his heart is hanging so low in his chest not even gravity can work its power to pick it back up.

It’s the contrite that swings with the sharpest strike. After the adrenaline ebbs and then fades, Lucas is left with a sense of heaviness in his chest that convulses his lungs, it spills into his stomach, seething with a turbulence that elicits a grave panic he feels entirely trapped within.

It’s the feeling of, _ I want you in ways more than this, but I know I can’t. _

But Lucas _ likes _ sleeping with Eliott, is the thing. After they talked about it, there had been a few days of tiptoeing around each other, living like two ghosts haunting the same house but within different stages of time. The awkwardness sat unspoken but heavy, still. But that was to be expected from something like this. It was fine.

Although, it hadn’t taken long for things to fall back into motion.

It only seems to happen when they’ve been drinking, tipsy, at best. The first time after their talk had been just after a night out for Emma’s birthday. Lucas had left early with Eliott to beat the queue at the pizza place next to the club, because it gets busy after closing and Eliott had been hungry. Lucas should have seen it coming, really, but he’s a little naïve, see, it’s a known fact.

They had arrived back at Lucas’ apartment, pizza long consumed deep within the dim crevices of Paris that lead them home, and, of course, there was nobody else there. One thing had led to another, after that.

And then, again, and again. One time, messily in the bathroom of some club they had been at (not Lucas’ proudest moment) another after drinks with Daphné and Elena, and, pretty much, after every fucking night out they go on.

Again, the details are a little blurry to Lucas.

Blurry, but vivid, still. Because Eliott is like that, you see. He is enthralling in one state of mind and overwhelming in another. He is fire and rain all at once. Lucas thinks even if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to stomp out the blaze Eliott creates within him. It’s addictive, like a drug he knows he shouldn’t be taking. The sudden rush followed by the ghastly come down, trapped in a cycle.

Up and down, up and down. Incessant.

And, although it is less of a taboo now, it’s still a scary topic to touch upon. They don’t, really, talk that much about it. Like he said, out of the few times it has happened, none of which have included sober minds. Which, could be considered a problem, if it were with anyone else. But this is _ Eliott _.

The only major difference now, is that instead of leaving before the other wakes up, they stay. One time, Lucas had woken to Eliott shoving a mug of coffee in his face, another Lucas had made Eliott breakfast and let him use the shower before he left for class.

So. It’s a _ thing _, now. And it’s fine, it’s good. Because it doesn’t have to mean anything, and it works for them. Like Lucas had said, they can’t sleep with anyone else during this, it’s merely beneficial. It’s casual sex, or, correction, getting each other off, and it’s fine.

It is so fine, in fact, that Lucas’ hasn’t had a breakdown over it in over a week now. 

He has never felt more fine in his life, really.

*

It’s almost as if, after breaking down that barrier of intimacy, pretending to date overcomes them like a second nature.

“I swear you two get more gross every day,” Arthur is saying as he scrubs the oven top. “I feel so single right now just listening to you.”

Lucas had teased him for it, cleaning the oven. Arthur had just scoffed and told him that it was beginning to stink up the kitchen and nobody else was going to do it, in which Lucas had called him their flat mom. He is, in a way.

Arthur is yet, to this day, prove him that he isn’t.

“What?” Lucas looks up from his phone, away from the little Eliott on there in the form of a facetime call.

He hears Eliott’s laugh ring through the speakers, and even through the shitty connection it’s beautiful.

“I said you are gross, you two. Both of you.”

Lucas screws his face up, scandalized. “We’re just talking!” he defends, “How is that gross?”

Arthur throws him a serious look, “Are you really telling me calling each other _ baby _ every, like, five seconds, _ isn’t _ gross?”

And, well—okay. Lucas will admit, the use of pet names is something that has started happening a lot more frequently, now. But it’s only ever under the watch of others and never behind closed doors. Lucas doesn’t like to think of how it turns his heart inside out whenever Eliott calls him _ love _ , or _ baby _, or how the words find themselves sitting at the very tip of his own tongue more often than not.

It’s all just what comes with the act. It’s nothing.

Lucas clambers for words. Eliott beats him to it.

“Arthur,” he proclaims, loud like he isn’t sure how far Lucas has the volume turned up. “Are you being a scrooge, right now? A _ love _ scrooge?”

Arthur rolls his eyes despite the fact Eliott and him can’t even see each other from where Lucas is sitting at the kitchen table. But Lucas catches the smallest trace of a smile that tilts the corner of his lips in a way that is entirely fond.

Lucas can’t help the way his own smile takes over.

“Eliott,” Arthur mimics, “You know I love you, bro. But this has to stop. From now on I’m banning all forms of PDA in all communal living areas. And that _ includes _the kitchen, thank you very much.”

Lucas watches with a straining chest how Eliott throws his head back in a burst of laughter.

“Love you too, man,” Eliott says once his laughter has tapered off. Arthur only squints at Lucas, mumbling a teasing, _ that’s all he took from that? _

Lucas, wholeheartedly, loves the both of them ridiculous amounts.

“Don’t listen to him,” Lucas tells Eliott, “He’s being bitter because nobody offered to help clean the oven.” And, when Eliott furrows his brows, about to open his mouth in question, Lucas says, “Don’t even ask.”

Arthur throws a dishcloth at him.

“I should get going,” Eliott informs them, then. Lucas’ heart sinks just marginally. “I have work soon,” Eliott defends when Lucas only pouts at him, “Don’t look so sad.”

“I know,” Lucas murmurs helplessly.

Eliott watches him carefully for a few moments, all while Lucas continues to pout because he selfishly just wants to tell Eliott to quit his job at the video store and come over to spend time with Lucas here instead. He isn’t an idiot, though, he swallows the thought away.

“Call later?” Eliott asks.

“Of course.”

They stare at each other for another few long seconds. Eliott’s smile is soft as Lucas stares back into his phone, socked feet kicking nervously at the floor. He kind of forgets Arthur is there until Eliott murmurs a quiet, “Well, are you going to hang up?” And, as though on instinct, Lucas responds with a quick, “You hang up.” A little defensive, but, okay.

Arthur makes a fake gagging sound from across the room.

A glint of mischief settles into the crevices of Eliott’s smile and also behind the grey of his eyes. “_ No _ ,” he draws out, “ _ you _hang up.”

Lucas can see where this is going.

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, smirking sinfully at the grunt Arthur makes. “You hang up.”

“You hang up,” Eliott jabs.

The words circulate a few more times, just enough to rile Arthur up a little but not enough to be considered concerning. Enough, though, that if Yann were here, he would probably look at Lucas like he’s pathetic, in which, he is. Lucas knows he is.

They eventually end the call, and as Lucas pads out of the kitchen, another dishcloth swatting his side as he does, he has to force down the part of him that thinks, although the suspected intent had been because Arthur had been standing right there, he hopes, foolishly, that maybe Eliott just hadn’t wanted to let Lucas go yet, either.

It’s a stupid thought, he crumbles it up and throws it away.

*

_ Do you want to come over? _

The text comes just as Lucas is getting out of the shower after a long shift at work. It’s just past eleven at night, which is strange in itself, because Lucas knows Eliott has class early in the morning, so the fact that he wants to hang out? Well, Lucas is a little confused.

_ Right now? _Lucas writes back, chewing on his bottom lip as he stands in the middle of his bedroom still wrapped in only a towel.

Eliott’s reply comes quickly, _ yeah, _ he says, and then, in another, _ Idriss and Sofiane are out. _

And _ that _—well, that could mean one thing, but it could also mean a lot of things. Lucas purses his lips, setting his phone onto his bed while he gets changed into a hoodie and pair of sweats. He mulls it over as he does, the idea of going to Eliott’s so late, why Eliott would go out of his way to mention he has the flat to himself when he’s never felt the need to do so before, why it should even matter, in the first place.

His phone pings again just as he’s running the towel over his damp hair.

_ So?? _ it reads.

Lucas doesn’t really think that much as he responds with a short, _ on my way. _

He’s on the bus when Eliott finally comes back with a heart, a confetti, _ and _ a winking face emoji.

Lucas locks his phone and sighs against the steamed-up glass of the window next to him, thinks, again, that this doesn’t have to be what he thinks it is. This could be Eliott inviting him over to watch a movie, to help him with a project, to talk about something that’s bothering him. It could be _ anything, _really, anything but that one thing that never happens when they aren’t bone deep swimming in alcohol.

The fact that he felt the need to inform Lucas of Idriss and Sofiane’s absence is meaningless.

Lucas arrives at Eliott’s place at eleven twenty, Eliott buzzes him up and tells him through the speaker that the door is unlocked. When Lucas pushes the door to the apartment open, shedding his coat and toeing off his sneakers, he calls out for Eliott into the dim hallway. The place is eerily quiet, it’s quite ominous, actually, how his voice and the creaking of his footsteps against the floorboards seem to echo against the pale walls.

He finds Eliott in the living room, with his back to the door at the coffee table, crossed-legged as he sits on the carpeted floor. His head is bent over his sketchbook, so consumed within the lines of what Lucas can only make out as another abstract piece he’ll never fully understand to even notice Lucas’ arrival. Faded lines of grey and the occasional splash of colour, reds and oranges and golds, are shaded onto the page. It’s quite beautiful, but everything Eliott creates is beautiful to Lucas, whether he understands the true meaning behind them or not.

Lucas takes a second to just watch. He studies how the muscles under Eliott’s t-shirt strain every time his arm moves to tilt his paper a certain way. How under the dim light in the room, hues of golden seem to cut into Eliott’s cheekbones and tousle throughout his hair. And, Lucas decides, in another universe, or life, that Eliott must have been a model, or something.

He’s so gorgeous it takes Lucas’ breath away.

Lucas blinks, snapping himself out of his reverie and finally compelling his feet to move. He shuffles further into the room and lowers himself onto the floor next to Eliott, who still doesn’t look away from his sketch. Lucas can’t help but find it annoyingly hilarious and adorable all at once.

“Hey,” he says, poking Eliott in the cheek, “Did you plan on inviting me over just to ignore me?”

Eliott startles, eyes darting away from his work and over to Lucas. “Shit, Lucas. You scared me.”

Lucas can only chuckle softly. “I mean, you buzzed me up like, less than a minute ago. Can you really lose yourself that quickly?”

“Sorry,” Eliott continues, and then, as he begins to tidy the pencils scattered across the table back into their case, “And you’d be surprised,” he mumbles, smiling softly, shrugging, “How easy it is to lose yourself.” Lucas hums and watches the silver of Eliott’s rings glisten against the light as he moves. “When you love something, that is,” Eliott finishes.

“You can’t marry your art supplies, Eliott,” Lucas teases, handing Eliott a few pencils that roll away from his grasp.

Eliott rolls his eyes fondly, “I was in a good flow,” he defends. “Also. My art supplies fulfil all my needs, what more could I want?”

Lucas only shakes his head at the ridiculousness of it. He does, wholeheartedly, love how intensely Eliott adores all things art, no matter how much he teases him about it.

“What brings me here, then?” Lucas changes the subject. It feels a little reckless, asking what he maybe already knows. He does it anyway.

Eliott zips up his pencil case, saying, without meeting Lucas’ eyes, “I just thought,” he stands with his stuff and goes to place them back on the shelf where he keeps his art supplies, now speaking distractedly with his back to Lucas as he rearranges some things on the shelf. “I thought, you know, we could like. Watch a movie, or something?”

Lucas blinks, bewilderedly, at Eliott’s back, “At almost midnight?”

Eliott turns, his facial expression twisting into something Lucas can’t quite read. That seems to happen a lot, recently—Lucas not being able to read Eliott in the way he always could, even from when they were kids. It’s a little like someone has cut the threads that used to intertwine them together and along with it falling the connection they once held. And it still is there, don’t get Lucas wrong, but, it’s just that when he knows what he knows about his feelings for Eliott, when you lie about something for so long, it starts to take its toll, eventually. That’s Lucas’ own doing, at the end of the day, he’s the one who has let the threads snap. His fingerprints are all over the mess of the scene. Nobody else’s.

Eliott shrugs, “I mean. Only if you want.”

Rationally, Lucas should go home. It’s late, Eliott has class in the morning, they’re _ alone _, something irreversible could happen. But, the thing is, Lucas doesn’t want to leave, like, at all.

So, he says, “Of course I want to,” and smiles when Eliott lets out an adorable little squeal of excitement that makes the night, the heaviness in Lucas’ chest, feel only slightly less daunting.

*

They end up watching _ 10 Things I Hate About You, _ at, to Lucas’ discontent, respectful ends of the sofa.

It’s his own fault, really, as within the first two minutes he had mumbled something along the lines of, _ you know, one would think a film student, like yourself, would have better taste in movies _. To which Eliott’ had whacked him with a pillow until he was forced to seek refuge on the opposite side of the couch.

So, yeah. Lucas is regretfully facing the consequences of that, currently.

He can’t help but steal a few glances at Eliott, however, because while rom-coms aren’t exactly Lucas’ idea of a good time, appreciating the way Eliott seems to feel every single thing each character does and how it shows so evidently on his face, is.

It’s quite consuming, and somewhat justified—the way Lucas’ eyes follow the line of Eliott’s throat when he tilts his head back in a spurt of laughter.

Foolishly, very much selfishly, Lucas wishes Eliott had called him over for other things that don’t include watching rebellious teens fall hopelessly in love with one another on his tv screen. And, as much as Lucas enjoys just being in Eliott’s company in any way, doing anything or nothing, he’s also sort of starting to feel it, just a little.

Feel _ it _, as in, that twitching feeling of needing to be closer, that restlessness that causes his cheeks to heat and his limbs to settle uncomfortably into the sofa cushions. He forces his gaze back to the movie; takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the way his breath keeps catching in his throat when his mind begins to wander.

It works for a short while. And Eliott doesn’t seem to notice, too enraptured by the movie and by Health Ledger, since, quote, _ he’s so hot in this one, Lucas, I don’t think you understand _. To which, no, not really, Lucas doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how anyone could be considered more beautiful than Eliott is. He doesn’t say it, though.

“You’re not paying attention,” Eliott’s voice, when he speaks, is soft. Lucas looks over to find Eliott already watching him, a curious streak in his eyes.

“I was,” Lucas insists, holding an arm out towards the screen to emphasise his already weak enough argument. “I was watching!”

Eliott shakes his head, tongue clicking against the top of his mouth. “You were watching, sure. But you weren’t _ paying attention _.”

Lucas frowns, stretching his leg further out onto the coffee table, it’s something his mother would scold him for, probably, if she was here, she’s not. Eliott doesn’t seem to mind. He searches his mind for something, _ anything _to say. All he can really come up with is a pathetic, “I was just thinking.”

And it’s, well—it’s true, tiptoeing a little too close to the truth, maybe. Lucas should also have predicted, because, well, he knows Eliott, that he wouldn’t just drop the topic there, as he turns so that he’s completely facing Lucas and asks, “About what?”

Instinctually, Lucas thinks, _ you. _ Looks at the way Eliott studies him carefully and thinks, _ your hands. How firm but careful they are. Your eyes. Their intense yet soft pigment, how they have a different hue for every mood. _ And, _ your mouth, your lips, god, how they send shivers down my spine but, somehow, still manage to burn my skin unlike anything else. You. You, you, you. _Lucas looks at Eliott, thinks, imagines, all of these things, but then swallows, blinks until his gaze isn’t so stuck on Eliott anymore, but instead a loose thread on his sweats and speaks only when he’s certain his voice is ready.

“Nothing. Just, stuff with work. You know how it is, stressful, and stuff.”

When Eliott hums, it sounds vaguely dubious. Lucas looks up from the thread he had been twisting between his fingers to, and mortifyingly so, Eliott fliting his gaze downwards, and slowly as such, smirking.

“Oh. Is that all?”

Lucas feels the warm flush that works its way up his neck and along his cheeks, its journey not stopping until it reaches the very tips of his ears. And, he’s not—he’s not _ fully _ hard, but, see, in sweats like these, ones that he’s had since he was maybe sixteen years old, ones that have been through one too many wash cycles, well, it doesn’t leave much room for imagination, even when the intermittent flashes of light from the tv that wash over them are the only sources of illumination in the dimly lit room. Even when Lucas moves his legs to try and mask the situation happening, down there, Eliott still sees.

Eliott did see, it’s far too late to inset damage control, now.

Lucas huffs out a breath in response. Eliott only rests his elbow on the back of the couch, his head falling into his hand as he continues to look at Lucas and Lucas feels like _ squirming _. Really, it’s unfair, how Eliott makes him feel like this, all jittery under his intense gaze.

He’s smirking, still, like perhaps he’s enjoying watching Lucas suffer until he’s so embarrassed he melts into the folds of the sofa.

“What?” Lucas snaps, although there’s no real bite behind it.

Eliott chuckles, “Nothing. Just,” he shrugs, almost as though mimicking Lucas from a few seconds ago. “Just, it looks a little like you were thinking of more than work, or, I might be wrong. I don’t know.”

Lucas knows, that Eliott is only testing him, seeing where this leads, although, Lucas thinks that they are both fully aware of where things are heading. It’s painfully obvious when you look at them both here, right now. Lucas with a half, edging on full, hard-on, and Eliott looking at him like he’s ready to completely devour him.

And that, it terrifies Lucas, deep within every bone in his body, it terrifies him.

He stands abruptly, “I uh, I should go,” he announces. Then, pretends not to see the way something akin to fear flashes across Eliott’s face—amusement replaced with panic.

“Hey, wait!” Eliott stands after Lucas, following him out of the living room and into the hallway where Lucas begins to reach for his coat. Eliott is pulling him by the arm and twisting him so that they face each other before Lucas can all but blink. “What do you mean you should go?”

Lucas deflates under Eliott’s loose hold. He could pull away, just leave, if he wanted. It would be so easy. But something in him makes him stay.

“It’s—” Lucas sighs, “it’s late.”

The grey hues in the green of Eliott’s eyes seem to stand out more, here, when the light of the hallway washes over them in sparse warm tones. They appear alarmed, like they’re playing with fire but don’t know how to stop.

“Did I say something? Fuck, if I made you feel uncomfortable, I’m sorry. Shit. I just, I thought—”

Eliott clambers for words, hand falling away from Lucas’ arm to create distance and it hits Lucas, then, like a tidal wave forcing his head underwater and holding him there until he can do nothing but let the water crash into his lungs and steal away every last breath of air he has left in him.

Eliott wants a casual hook up, and Lucas is just making it weird. He’s freaking out and that isn’t casual, not at all. _ You’re the one who insisted it could be casual. _ This, running away like he’s afraid, as though giving into his want is forbidden and wrong, is the farthest thing from casual Lucas could ever reach for. He finds himself, as he stares into Eliott’s bewildered eyes, remembering that he _ asked _ for this, it was _ Lucas’ _ idea to do casual because that’s what they are, and that’s what Eliott had wanted. So. This. He can’t let his panic consume him. That’s when this gets messy, if it isn’t enough already, that’s when, tragically, Eliott finds out that maybe Lucas feels more than he lets on.

It’s that thought, exactly, that forces Lucas to push down the panic, the anxiety that screams, _ what the fuck are you doing _, and has him gripping onto the collar of Eliott’s t-shirt to pull him down into a hard kiss.

The kiss, in itself, is hurried. It’s all hot breaths and teeth clattering together, until Eliott cups Lucas by the cheeks, presses him up against an adjacent wall, and slows their lips to a pace that’s less frantic and more slow—heated in a way that makes Lucas arch his back from the wall.

Lucas, as Eliott licks into his mouth, definitely doesn’t think about how this is the first time they’ve made out quite like this while sober, while alone. There was that one time, when Eliott met him after class and Lucas had kissed him under the gaze of Julien. But that was nothing like now, how Eliott moans brokenly and slides his thigh in between Lucas’ legs until they’re both panting out weak breaths of desperation into each other’s mouths.

This kiss, it’s deliberate in a way that maps out a journey they know the final destination of. It’s more. It’s making Lucas’ knees feel so weak he thinks he might collapse if it weren’t for Eliott holding him upright.

Quickly, it becomes not enough. Lucas is pressing up against Eliott’s thigh, and while it feels amazing, it doesn’t cut it, quite. He pushes weakly at Eliott’s shoulders, thinks, _ bed, now _ , then, remembering Eliott can’t actually read his thoughts, mumbles, “Eliott.” Lucas’ mind, in this state, is hazy, feels like it’s clouded over with a heavy fog that settles ankle deep and then rises, slowly, until he’s entirely devoured by it and all he can think is, _ Eliott, Eliott, Eliott. _

Eliott hums, lips moving to Lucas neck, parting softly against his flushed skin, mapping out a constellation of heat as he descends further and as far as Lucas’ hoodie allows him to.

“_ Eliott _ ,” Lucas practically grunts this time, fingers gripping into the velvety strands of Eliott’s hair to lift his head. “ _ Bed _,” Lucas manages, pants, finally. Eliott licks his lips, nods, eyelids heavy.

They, somehow, manage to make it down the hallway and stumble into Eliott’s bedroom, items of clothing floating to the floor as they go. And, soon enough, Lucas is lying stomach down between the bedsheets, Eliott trailing a path of kisses down Lucas’ spine that make him sigh into the pillow.

Then, Lucas thinks, as Eliott’s lips linger further, edging dangerously close to where Lucas craves him most, that this feels a little like he’s floating in space. There is no air, up here, when Eliott spreads him apart and licks, slowly, painfully so. Lucas gasps into the sheets. Stars form behind Lucas’ eyelids as Eliott works up a seamless rhythm, Lucas shuts his eyes and he sees galaxies explode within the darkness. There’s a point, in time, that Lucas is fisting so hard into the sheets, whining so high in his throat and rutting helplessly into the mattress that he decides he can’t take it any longer, not having Eliott’s hand on him. Eliott notices, too, because he’s observant like that, caring. He runs his hands gently over Lucas’ sides, then carefully turns him over. Lucas blinks lazily up at him, is sure he must look a wreck right now, his hair a mess against the pillow, lips bitten raw, pupils blown out wide like he can’t get enough.

Eliott leans over to catch Lucas’ lips in another kiss. It should feel strange, tasting himself like this on Eliott’s tongue. But Lucas doesn’t really care, not when he’s suspended higher than the sky, bypassing planets with every drag of Eliott’s lips against his.

“Eliott,” Lucas pants out between kisses. _ Kissing is good _ , Lucas thinks distantly, _ so good _ . But it isn’t enough. _ Not enough _. “Fuck, Eliott. I need—"

“What do you need?” Eliott kisses the corner of Lucas’ mouth, trails his lips down to his jawline, lingers there, his breath hot as he speaks. “Tell me what you want, Lucas.”

Gripping onto Eliott’s shoulder, as if it’s a vice that will stop him from falling, Lucas clenches his eyes shut, tells himself, _ this is good, it feels good, _ thinks _ , don’t make things weird. Casual. _

In the end he mumbles something only half coherent, along the lines of needing Eliott to _ just fucking touch him _, to which Eliott chuckles in soft amusement, and goes down on him until he’s seeing stars once again. Then, a little sloppily, still clouded within a post-orgasm haze, Lucas returns the gesture with Eliott squirming underneath him.

Afterwards, Lucas lets Eliott kiss him until he feels dizzy with it. And it feels a little foreign, but nice, too, really fucking nice, actually, to just make out and have no intention of progression. It isn’t to make a show, or to deceive or even for it to lead to other things. For a while they just kiss, hands roaming over skin just to feel, kissing just because it feels good. Lucas doesn’t think about the real reason they’re in this position.

“I hope you know I’m still making you watch the end of that movie with me, you can’t get out of it that easily,” Eliott murmurs after a while, once the kissing has subdued and they’re just lying next to one another, heads sharing the same pillow for a reason that is hugely unnecessary because Eliott’s bed is definitely big enough for two.

“Damn,” Lucas sighs into the pillow, “My plan didn’t work, then?”

Eliott shoves Lucas until he’s clinging onto the sheets for dear life so that he doesn’t fall onto the floor, and they laugh so hard, that, in the end, he does.

But, Eliott pulls him back up, kisses him again until their lids become so heavy with sleep in the end all they really achieve is a few soft brushes of lips between tired hums.

They fall asleep, like that. And sleep, when it comes, it does so tenderly.

*

The next morning, Lucas wakes in scattered intervals.

The first time his eyes flutter open, it’s to the soft shuffling of sheets next to him, a cold chill seeping under the covers as, Eliott, Lucas registers, slips out, his warmth following closely behind. Lucas grunts sleepily, but Eliott smooths a hand through his hair and tells him to go back to sleep, so, Lucas does.

He isn’t sure how long he drifts again for, but when Lucas wakes for the second time that morning, it’s to Eliott rummaging through his dresser for clothes. It’s quite insignificant, but Lucas hazily notes how the early morning light, barely there but just about, streams in through the cracks of the blinds and spills over Eliott’s bare shoulders to create shadows that are prominent but soft all the same.

Lucas falls back into slumber to thoughts of running his fingers over the golden shapes on Eliott’s warm skin.

Then, once again, Lucas is eased from sleep by another stretch of rustling bedsheets, he cracks an eye open slightly, but it seems to force itself closed. _ I have to leave for class now, _ someone is saying. Eliott, is saying. It’s Eliott, and his hand is in Lucas’ hair again, brushing the unruly strands off his forehead gently. Then, ever so softly, Lucas feels lips press against his skin, at his forehead where Eliott’s hand had just ghosted over.

Lucas hums contentedly, limbs melting further into Eliott’s bed sheets. His familiar smell is overpowering, and it makes Lucas feel eminently warm all over. And, this time, when a voice speaks, it’s even softer. _Shh, love,_ it hushes_,_ _you don’t need to get up,_ _I’ll see you later. _Lucas thinks, _am I dreaming? This must be a dream._

Soon after, sleep pulls Lucas back under the covers.

When consciousness finally comes and stays, Lucas’ eyes open to a now fully lit room, the winter sun pouring over him so harshly he has to squint to make out his surroundings.

He yawns, stretching out the soft ache in his limbs against the mattress with a small groan. He then rolls over to retrieve his phone from the nightstand and check the time. Firstly he sees it’s just gone ten, and then spots the note placed next to where his phone had been.

_ Had to go to class, _ it reads, _ there’s coffee in the kitchen. We’re filming today so I won’t get back ‘til late :( Please pray for me while I suffer a day of agony. Miss you already. _

At the bottom of the yellow sticky note Eliott has written his message onto is a little sketch of a raccoon sitting at a desk, chin on his palm as he watches the clock sadly. A thought bubble is above his head, which, inside Eliott has doodled the image of a hedgehog, asleep.

Lucas’ chest twists with something unrecognisable. But he pushes it away, and instead chuckles at Eliott’s melodrama and ridiculousness of leaving a note instead of just texting him like they’re in the stone ages or something.

Doesn’t think about what it might mean because, really, it doesn’t have to mean anything.

Nothing at all.

*

Later that day, Lucas meets up with Imane for lunch. Because he decides that it’s maybe a little creepy for him to stay at Eliott’s until he arrives home, or, worse yet, if Idriss or Sofiane land back.

So, Lucas had texted Imane, who also is free of classes today, to invite her to go for food. Plus, Lucas kind of misses her, a bit. It has been a while since they caught up, just the two of them.

“Hey!” a voice greets. Lucas looks up from his phone to see Imane approaching him, she pulls him into a hug, one that’s comforting and familiar, warm. He squeezes her shoulders tightly.

“Hi. How are you?” he asks her, pulling away.

She grins, breath fanning out like smoke in the winter chill. “Good, yeah. Bit stressed, you know, lots of assignments coming up, but good. And you?”

Lucas nods as he begins to lead the way into the café he had been waiting at. “I’m alright,” he tells her. “Glad you were able to find some time in your busy schedule to meet me,” he jokes.

She rolls her eyes at him as they settle into a table. “Still just as dramatic as always?”

Lucas chuckles, “Always.”

They begin to flick through their menus, and it’s good, the way their conversation is able to flow. Enjoyable in a sense that invokes a feeling of nostalgia. Imane is, as some would put it, very level headed, always knows what to say or do to make people feel better, it’s something Lucas finds very comforting, how, as an only child, he can look at her and see something akin to a sibling, how he thinks he would probably do anything to protect her, thinks she would probably do the same for him, too.

She tells Lucas about her classes, about the plans she’s made for Sofiane’s upcoming birthday, the interview for a new job she has next week. And in return Lucas tells her about his course, about the sea life documentary he had watched the other night, and then about the minor kitchen fire Eliott had created when attempting to make them eggs on toast one morning last week.

Light, easy, it is.

It’s when, they are halfway through their food, that Imane says something that gets Lucas to straighten up in his seat, heart rising in his chest to swiftly replace the calmness that had honestly been lingering far too for it not to appear suspicious.

“Sofiane was saying, the other day, how good things with you and Eliott seem to be going.”

Lucas aims for nonchalance, he truly does, but, it’s a bit hard, see, when someone mentions him and Eliott and their relationship in the same sentence. It makes his heartbeat stagger and halt, over and over, makes him feel like if he breathes too deep it might just explode with how high it sits in his throat.

“What do you mean? Did Eliott say something?” he asks.

Imane chuckles, “He doesn’t have to,” she tells him, “You’re literally wearing his hoodie right now.” That much is true, Lucas realises with embarrassment. But it was an accident, honestly. He hadn’t been able to find his own within the chaos they had made stumbling into Eliott’s bedroom last night, so he had _ borrowed _one, just. He’ll give it back, eventually. It’s no big deal. “And,” Imane continues, raising her brows conspicuously, nodding towards Lucas’ neck with suggestion clear in her movements as if the insinuation serves as enough of an explanation on its own.

Lucas’ hand drifts to his neck absentmindedly, swearing inwardly for not bothering to look in the mirror this morning. _ Of course _ Eliott would somehow manage to sabotage his lunch like this, while not even being here. It’s ridiculous. He can almost feel the heat of the marks burning against his fingertips. Lucas makes a mental note to give Eliott shit for it later.

“Shit,” Lucas chuckles nervously, letting his hand fall. He runs his finger along the condensation the ice of his water has created on his glass of water. It numbs the tip of his finger, bitter cold in comparison to the burning heat that’s currently setting ablaze on his neck, hotter and hotter the more aware of it he becomes. Little droplets of water fall off the glass and onto the table, Lucas blinks at the puddle it makes there absently until Imane hums.

“He, also, may have said something else. Maybe,” she adds with an implying edge to her voice as she squeezes some ketchup onto her plate. Like she _ knows _she has Lucas right in the palm of her hand. Honestly, Lucas has to hand it to her.

Lucas wills his heartbeat to settle down, be quiet for just a second, let him breathe.

When Imane doesn’t elaborate, only bites into her sandwich and chews with a small smirk. Lucas huffs out a sigh. Gives in.

“Well, are you going to tell me or not?” His voice, he’s aware, sounds desperate. Thing is, if Eliott is talking about him, Lucas kind of wants to know. His bones are _ itching _ with it, _ screaming. _

Imane only laughs at Lucas’ pathetic attempts at remaining blasé. “I mean, it isn’t anything you don’t already know,” Imane shrugs, wiping her mouth with a napkin, “He told Sofiane and Idriss that you’re the most important person in his life, is all.” She smiles, then, as if her words aren’t making Lucas want the ground to swallow him whole. “You know, he really loves you, Lucas.”

She says it, like. Like it’s so _ obvious _, so easy. Lucas has to swallow the huge lump forming in his throat and then wash it down with a gulp of water. It should, really, come as a shock.

But Eliott is like that, see, he finds something he cares about and he puts all he has into loving and cherishing it. He’s kind-hearted, compassionate, intense. Loves until there is no end. They’ve been best friends for twelve years, so, for Eliott to say something like that is not unwonted, when you take a step back and look at the bigger picture. Of course he would say something so dumb and adorable, probably mumbled it flippantly while playing fifa with Idriss or making coffee with Sofiane. _ Lucas? Well, yeah, he’s my best friend, most important person in my life. _And it isn’t like Idriss or Sofiane would get offended, because that’s just the way it is with them and the way it always has been. Some, a select few, they don’t get it—the bond Lucas and Eliott have—and that’s fine, it’s intricate and delicate in its own complex way, which, can be problematic when it comes to, say, dating other people, for Eliott, anyway. Lucas knows he’s bad at hiding how he feels, and while Eliott is always none the wiser, they always seem to notice. Lucille noticed, back in high school, Marco, too.

Ultimately, though, there is nothing different about the way Lucas and Eliott act with one another now than there was before they started fake dating. Minus all the kissing and stuff, their friendship is the same, it’s solid, constant.

Lucas has the urge to tell Imane, _ it’s not like that _ , to say, _ he may love me, but he loves me like he loves you, or Idriss, or Sofiane. As friends. _Eliott doesn’t love Lucas like Lucas loves him, is the thing. And Lucas is learning to come to terms with that, he’s taken the pill and he’s trying to swallow it, no matter how much it hurts, how much it always will hurt. Lucas is trying.

It’s not Eliott’s fault that he says these things and they break Lucas’ heart. He has no idea.

He wonders what people would think, what his friends would think, if they knew the truth. How they are lying to them all, that it’s all just pretend. Lucas is a little terrified of finding out.

Lucas sets his glass of water carefully back onto the table and lifts his fork to stab a few fries. “He said that?” Lucas asks eventually.

Imane nods.

“He’s an idiot,” Lucas mumbles, laughing softly to fight off the blush that begins to creep up his neck.

Imane coos, “Look at you, all embarrassed and in love,” she teases, although it’s entirely good natured. Then, more seriously she says, “It makes me happy, seeing you this happy. It’s nice.”

“Thanks,” Lucas smiles, doesn’t really know what else to say, with the guilt that pushes against his chest, _ he’s lying to you _, it aches to screams out to her. Lucas swallows again. “And you, too,” he says, “I’m so happy for you.”

A foreign look falls over Imane’s face. It’s something Lucas can’t quite place a finger on, something knowing, searching. Lucas thinks if he tries to discern it too much he’ll most likely get a headache, so he blinks and pretends it’s nothing. It is, nothing. Until Imane speaks again. “You really love him, don’t you?”

Like a reflex reaction, Lucas almost, nearly, says no. The word is so acquainted on his tongue, so automatic by now. But he pauses, thinks about it, thinks about the way Eliott had kissed him last night like it meant something more than it did.

Sighing, Lucas says, “I just—I love him so much, you know. I feel like I’m going insane with it, sometimes.” It feels safe, almost, to admit it here. Where, if it manages to come back to bite him in the ass, he can brush it off as pretend, _ she asked, _ he could defend, _ I was just answering a question, going with the plan _. It feels freeing, in a way, to say it out loud and know that he actually means it.

That for once he doesn’t have to lie.

They smile at one another for a few moments, until Imane is scoffing, “Look at us,” she shakes her head, “Acting all sappy.”

“Mmh,” Lucas hums, “Gross. I know.”

After that, Imane changes the subject back to Sofiane’s birthday party, and Lucas is extremely thankful that he can finally let out the massive breath he had been holding in. They eventually part ways, Imane promising they will meet up again soon, once her assignments aren’t taking over her life so much, and Lucas hugs her and wishes her good luck with them. Tells her she better not forget about him when she’s the most famous biologist in all of Europe.

Imane’s words, when they say their goodbyes, never really leave Lucas. Not on the walk home, or while he’s sat at his desk doing his assignment, or when he gets a text from the groupchat with the guys suggesting a beer and game night.

The information, it just—well, Lucas doesn’t exactly know what to do with it. It’s _ there _, it’s something Eliott said. But Lucas doesn’t want to dissect the meaning too much, thinks, if he does that, he may end up somewhere dangerous, somewhere with no point of return, or, worse yet, a dead-end that leads to nothing, and nowhere.

*

Lucas, in an act of pure absurdity, has been put on beer and snack duty for game night, since he had been the only one free to go to the supermarket. Which is highly unreasonable and fucking annoying, to say the least, since he had been prepared to not leave the flat for the rest of the night.

Now he’s standing in the snack aisle, glaring petulantly at the retreating back of the man who has just taken the last packet of salted peanuts, even though Lucas had clearly gotten to them first.

“Do I need to beat someone up, or are you just gawking?”

Lucas startles, whipping around to see Eliott smiling at him with amusement.

The only good thing about being sent on the beer and snack run, is that Eliott had offered to come and meet Lucas to help. Well, he is late, Lucas is almost finished, but it’s fine.

He’s here, and like always, he looks beautiful. Tired, but beautiful.

“It’s nothing,” Lucas brushes off, thinks the stupid peanuts aren’t worth Eliott starting a fight in the middle of a grocery store for anyway. Eliott raises his eyebrows but lets it go. “How did your filming go?” Lucas asks then.

Eliott sighs, “Tiring, mostly. There was a problem with the mics, and then one of the actors didn’t show up so we had to get someone else to step in last minute, which was fucking stressful. But we did end up getting some really good footage that I have the joy of editing now, so.”

Throwing a bag of Cheetos into his basket, Lucas hums, “You’ll show me?” he asks, because Eliott always lets Lucas watch his work. Lucas loves seeing Eliott start from the very scraps of raw footage and somehow transform it into something amazing and beautiful. And Eliott always seems to want to show Lucas first, that’s the way it’s always been.

“Of course,” Eliott smiles.

Then—

“Hey!” Lucas halts on the spot just as they enter the next aisle, remembering the disaster that occurred during lunch with Imane earlier. “I have a bone to pick with you,” Lucas squints, poking Eliott in the chest sharply.

Eliott frowns, eyes glazing over with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Lucas pulls his hoodie to one side and points to the marks on his neck exasperatedly, eyebrows raised with accusation. “I’m talking about _ these _ ,” he says. “I didn’t even know until Imane pointed them out earlier! _ Imane, _Eliott. Imane! It was so embarrassing!”

“Calm down,” Eliott laughs, “They’re not _ that _obvious. Come on.”

Lucas only glares at him, huffs, “The guys are gonna have a field day with this.”

Sighing, Eliott says, “Sorry. I won’t do it again, if that’s what you want.” The worst part, Lucas thinks, is that Eliott actually sounds genuine.

Lucas looks to the side sheepishly, “That’s not what I said,” he mumbles, half hopes Eliott doesn’t actually hear him.

But he does, and he smirks, almost evilly. Lucas rolls his eyes, prays Eliott can’t see the raging blush on his cheeks under the bright lights of the supermarket. It is, very likely, that he sees it as bright and as clear as day.

“Just,” Lucas runs a hand over his neck, “How am I supposed to cover these.” Thinks of, with panic, the horror it would be if Yann saw, what he would think. Lucas doesn’t want to know.

Smirking still, Eliott reaches out to pull Lucas’ hood up over his head, tugs on the drawstrings so that the hood tightens around his face, and then finishes by tying the strings together in a little bow.

“There we go, all gone,” he says simply, and then, because he’s clearly fuelling off the fact that Lucas’ face is redder than a tomato, currently, “That’s a cute hoodie, too. Where’d you get it?” he teases, holding onto the excess material at Lucas’ wrist. Lucas lets his arm flop out of Eliott’s hold and undoes the drawstrings. 

“You’re annoying,” he says flatly. But he leaves the hood up, just to be safe.

“Besides,” Eliott continues, resuming his journey down the aisle and ignoring Lucas’ weak jab, “They look good on you.”

Lucas almost chokes on the spot. He has no idea whether Eliott is referring to the hoodie or the hickeys, but in the end concludes that, actually, he’d rather not find out. He’s just thankful that he hasn’t moved yet, and that Eliott has wandered far enough that he hopefully doesn’t hear the way Lucas voice shakes as he speaks, mumbling a light, “Fuck you,” that has Eliott throwing his head back in a gleeful burst of laughter that echoes beautifully off the walls of the aisle, and. Yeah.

Lucas is so fucked.

*

Three beers in, and Lucas feels pleasantly buzzed.

With Eliott to one side of him running a hilarious commentary on Arthur and Basile’s combined failed attempts at beating Yann at Fifa, and Yann himself to his other, his head resting mindlessly against Lucas’ shoulder like kicking their asses at the game requires absolutely zero effort.

Which, it most likely does, require no effort. Since everyone _ but _ Yann is so embarrassingly bad at it.

Lucas can feel Eliott’s thigh pressing against his own, closer and firmer as the night fades on. It is, really, just another thing to add to the ever-growing list of things that make his heart come to battle with his head.

As the late evening lingers into the early hours of the morning, their bodies start to feel heavier, limbs sprawled out on the floor and along the sofa as Fifa is swapped out for some badly plotted sitcom on Netflix that is so American Lucas’ tired brain can’t even begin to make a half attempt at discerning what is being said most of the time.

Yann has slipped onto the floor, the coffee table pushed to the wall to allow him to lie stomach down in a row with Arthur and Basile. It’s a little ridiculous, the picture it makes, Lucas can’t help but find it extremely amusing.

The thing is, now, with that, Eliott has taken it as an opportunity to stretch his long fucking limbs all up in Lucas’ space. It’s nice, warm, but that’s not the point. The point is that it is too nice, too accustomed. But, again, Lucas isn’t thinking about that. So. He pushes the thought down and lets Eliott cuddle into his side. Enjoys it, even, just a little.

It’s then that Lucas’ phone chimes on the couch next to him. He picks it up, careful not to jostle Eliott too much. The notification, when Lucas checks, is a Facebook one. A friend request from Julien. Lucas looks down at it bemusedly, stares for so long his phone screen fades to black. Thinks, _ why _ , and then _ , what the fuck do I do. _

He flits a glance down at Eliott, who is half lying over Lucas’ lap, arms around his waist as he blinks lazily at the tv. Similar to Lucas he isn’t paying attention at all, Lucas can tell by the way his eyes hood over every now and then with sleep.

He looks so impossibly beautiful Lucas can’t even think straight for a second.

Eventually, diverting his gaze away and back to his phone, Lucas sighs. In the end, he doesn’t really know why he accepts the request, tells himself, _ it’s only a friend request _. It’s fine. Lucas is friends with people from high school on Facebook who he hasn’t spoken to in literal years. It’s a means of communication, a way for Julien to now be able to contact Lucas whenever the hell he wants. But it certainly doesn’t have to mean anything, he shouldn’t overthink it. So. Lucas hits accept and lets his phone fall back into the sofa cushions.

“Everything okay?”

Lucas looks to find Eliott has, at some point, twisted to gaze up at him. His voice is quiet, whispered soft enough so that only Lucas catches the words. He isn’t sure whether it was done deliberately or if it’s just Eliott’s tiredness taking its toll.

For some reason, Lucas feels like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, headlights beaming down on him, harsh and enraged. But he swiftly reminds himself that, no, he hasn’t done anything wrong, nothing to the like of underhand.

Because Lucas and Eliott aren’t actually together.

So, Lucas smiles, says, “Yeah. All good.” And lets his hand find Eliott’s hair and stay there until Eliott stops looking at him with a curiosity far too complex for Lucas’ exhausted brain to think about right now.

*

Eliott, once enough beer has been consumed to leave their bones feeling warm and fuzzy, stays the night.

After fucking around in the kitchen for a solid twenty minutes while getting a glass of water each, they stand side-by-side in the bathroom, with their hips knocking together as they brush their teeth. Lucas can’t help but think, distantly, how nice the picture reflected on the mirror in front of them looks. Then, on their descent to Lucas’ bedroom, with socks shuffling along the hardwood floor, they exchange mumbled _ goodnights _as they pass Arthur in the hallway. Arthur’s lack of reaction to Eliott stumbling along closely behind Lucas concerns him only slightly, how it’s something that has etched its way into normalcy so easily.

In all honesty, Lucas is too tired to care, at this point.

After lending Eliott a pair of pyjama bottoms to change into (that are, and adorably so to the point where Lucas has to look away to stifle a smile, far too small for his taller frame) they fall into bed.

They fall into bed, and, as the covers swallow them up, they fall into each other, too.

It happens first as a gentle brush of Eliott’s fingertips down the dip of Lucas’ neck as they lie on their sides facing one another. Then, like mapping the path of a ghost leaving little goosebumps in its wake, over Lucas’ bare shoulder, and slowly down the length of his arm. Lucas’ eyes flutter shut at the touch, humming quietly, and when Eliott’s fingertip meets Lucas’ wrist, as it details faint little patterns onto the skin there, Lucas twists his arm, catching Eliott’s hand in his own and pulling him into a kiss.

Alarmingly, Lucas thinks, _ what am I doing, _the conviction of panic trying to force its way into the still of the night around them, tries to lace its screams into the plush of the sheets that tangle their limbs. Like it wants to wreck and ruin, steal the moment away from Lucas as though he doesn’t deserve it.

Lucas wonders, maybe, if it’s right, maybe he doesn’t. Deserve this.

But Eliott kisses Lucas back as easy as the back and forth of the tide against the moon. Lips slotting together, effortlessly, slow like they have all the time in the world. Soft sounds spilling between the gaps of their kisses and intertwining with the silver light that casts over their skin.

And, when Eliott shifts to hover over Lucas, kiss deepening and hand slipping under the material of his sweatpants, he has to swallow down Lucas’ moans so that they don’t grow too loud. Lucas decides, then, as he slots his thigh in between Eliott’s, that the panic can wait for another day.

It does, after all, feel far too good to let go like this and not have to think about anything other than the way Eliott’s lips feels against his own and the sparks that twist in his stomach and then shoot up his spine, for him to stop.

Late into the night, darkness taking such depths within his bedroom that he can only just about make out the silhouette of Eliott resting next to him, he hears a soft mumble.

He would pass it off as a vivid fragment of his own imagination if it weren’t for the fact Eliott stirs beside him.

“This,” he’s saying, more awake than Lucas had thought he was, “feels so nice, with you.”

Lucas blinks against the darkness, sighs contentedly when Eliott tugs him closer by the waist. Thinks, _ yeah, it does. It really fucking does. “ _Yeah,” he breathes, tucks his face under Eliott’s chin, adores how warm it makes him feel. “I know.”

So. Yet again, for the second night in a row, they fall asleep like that. Like this, recklessly, tenderly.

And, dangerously, in his tired state, without even meaning to, Lucas thinks, _ maybe _.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! ✨
> 
> my tumblr is [@lumierelovers](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/) come yell at me or tell me this isn’t as bad as i think it is


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these updates are getting quicker i’m telling u it’s only because uni is kicking my ass and procrastination is my coping mechanism
> 
> i hope you all enjoy! 💖

The hushed realm of the library, with its quiet corners and relaxed nooks, is a place Lucas can find a sense of serenity that, for some otherworldly reason, he cannot achieve within his own flat. _ Especially _ when all three of his nightmare flatmates are home.

Like. It is _ figuratively impossible _ to get _ anything _ done when Yann is losing a game of Mario Kart, or when Basile and Arthur are having a competition to see who can hit the highest note and then hold it for the longest length of time. Usually, Lucas thoroughly enjoys entertaining their strange pursuits, but today he has shit to do.

So. Sadly, the library is where he has had to situate himself.

And, well, it had started off somewhat productively. He had made it through four of the readings he’s missed and then managed to write up a decent bulk of the assignment he has due in a few days. It had gone drastically downhill from there, however, and it is Eliott’s fault, really.

The phenomena of a boy had ambled up to the table Lucas is sitting at, an easy grin on his face as he asked, inanely, “Is this seat taken?” To which, how could Lucas ever say no?

So, now Eliott sits opposite Lucas, smirk formed around the cap of the highlighter which hangs from his mouth as he throws little balls of scrunched up paper right in Lucas’ face.

“Eliott,” Lucas sighs, looking up to level him with a glare, but speaking in a hushed tone as to not disturb any of the other library-goers. “Do you mind?” In response, Eliott only chucks another, this one missing Lucas’ eye by just a mere inch. Lucas’ glare hardens. “_ I swear to god _,” he warns.

“They’re _ notes _, Lucas,” Eliott yell-whispers. “You’re supposed to read them.”

“I’m trying to study!” Lucas argues back, throwing an apologetic look to the girl who turns around to glare at them for being too loud.

Eliott pouts, eyes widening like that of a kicked puppy. It’s highly unfair, really, how he’s able to get inside Lucas head with just one simple look.

Lucas sighs, picking up one of the paper balls from the keyboard of his laptop. And, uncrumpling it to reveal the word _ hi, _turns it over for Eliott to see with a displeased look.

“Hi? Really?”

Eliott rolls his eyes, smiling, “You have to read all of them,” he tells Lucas, excited like he’s just written the answer to the Bermuda Triangle within the crumpled-up scraps of paper he’s torn from his lecture notebook.

Reluctantly, Lucas looks down at the pieces of paper littered over his keyboard and textbook. Asks himself why the fuck he puts up with this adorably irritating dork of a best friend, even though the answer is way beyond disputably clear.

“Fine,” Lucas surrenders. “But if I do, then you have to promise to let me concentrate on this for at least another thirty minutes afterwards. No distractions,” Lucas compensates.

Eliott nods firmly, still unable to conceal the faint traces of giddiness. “No distractions,” he affirms.

Lucas shakes his head with a huff of breath. Then, picking up one of the notes to uncover the word _ are _ , he looks to Eliott with another puzzled scrunch of eyebrows. But Eliott only urges him to keep going. So, Lucas lifts another, finds the word _ you, _ and tries not to let his annoyance get ahead of him. The next crumpled note has a little smiley face on it, Lucas sets it next to the others and finds the last wedged in between the C and F keys of his laptop.

_ Pretty _, it reads.

Looking down at the little pile of notes he has accumulated, Lucas rearranges them so that they formulate an actual coherent sentence.

_ hi are you pretty :) _

No, that’s not—there’s no question mark, it’s—

_ hi you are pretty :) _

Lucas’ gaze snaps up, he fumbles for words, isn’t entirely sure _ which _ words. But Eliott isn’t even looking back at him, is instead fixated intently on his textbook, holding out a hand to silence Lucas when he goes to say something.

“Nope,” Eliott shushes him, “No distractions.”

Gaping for a moment too long, he blinks, bewildered, and has to force down the strange twisting in his chest. How it swivels and spirals as though performing a choreographed ballet, twirling until his head feels dizzy. It’s a feeling Lucas is well acquainted with, a dance he knows by heart; all its familiar dips and curves and spins. It’s a staccato rhythm Lucas does not trust, one he hates to think about. The false hope it provides, how it sings a melody of maybe’s and what if’s, how it creeps up on him in moments unforeseen, its intentions undefined.

Dark and intense, yet so utterly violent and bright.

The thing is, since that time at Eliott’s apartment, sober hook-ups have become quite the regular occurrence between them. It hasn’t been long enough since the first time to call it a reoccurring pattern of sorts, but Lucas thinks it’s edging dangerously close to maybe becoming one. And he has lost count of the amount of times they’ve slept together, now, it’s a number that Lucas tries not to think about. Even if they haven’t necessarily _ gone all the way, _ as you would put it, it still feels like they’ve found this rhythm that works, and it doesn’t interfere with their friendship or they way they are with one another and nobody has to find out and it’s all so, very fine. He really is starting to get the hang of this whole _ casual _ ordeal.

That is, until Eliott goes and does something so adorably and painfully, _ him, _ that it causes Lucas’ heart to fall out of his chest.

He sighs, scraping the notes into a pile and slipping them into the last page of his textbook. And he ignores the way the corners of Eliott’s lips still etch into little curved dimples as his eyelashes fan downwards over his cheeks. Dimples that would look just as pretty under the press of Lucas’ fingertips, shadows across his cheekbones that would flutter if Lucas tilted his chin upwards.

He blinks distractedly at his word document until the moment is gone.

*

The air is cool when Lucas and Eliott finish their study session and step out into the winter chill.

With the sun beginning to set despite the fact that the afternoon still lingers, various tones of orange and gold, alongside a faint dusting of purple, hang low in the sky.

The picture it reflects back to them reminds Lucas a lot of the kind of piece he would find stuck to Eliott’s bedroom wall. Something he would turn out while sat at an open window, reluctant rays of the retiring sun warming the highest points of his face as it enthralls him into complete absorption; golden flickers in his eyelashes and light shimmers on his cheekbones. Something pretty, he would sketch, something captivating that would make Lucas’ heart swell with pride as he tells Eliott it should be displayed in a museum, saying it again and again until Eliott stops brushing the compliment off and accepts it with a shy smile.

Neither of them speak much, on the walk to the bus stop. A rich silence seems to have settled itself over the two drastically since Lucas had read the notes. And, save for the few mumbled questions on which word sounded better in his essay, or Eliott asking Lucas for a red pen, not much has been said. And that’s fine, really. Lucas feels no apparent awkwardness or tension, it’s simply reflective. Lucas, admittedly, tends to fall into his own head quite a lot when Eliott is around like this—saying things that are meant to be of lightheartedness but still make Lucas’ heart ache.

Not once has Lucas ever written off silence with Eliott as uncomfortable, though, and he isn’t about to start now.

It’s when they’re sitting underneath the bus shelter awaiting the next bus that their silence is intruded upon by none other than Julien, who approaches with a stealth so skilled that Lucas physically startles.

“Lucas! Hi,” Julien chirps, hand clasping the strap of his backpack as he gazes down at Lucas with a wide grin.

Vigilantly, Lucas returns the smile. “Hey, Julien,” he responds, sitting up a little straighter. He’s acutely aware of Eliott’s curious gaze, how it lingers to his side, close enough that it starts to radiate heat. Lucas tries to ignore how much it burns.

“How are you?” Julien asks, his face is backlit by the glare of the sun behind his head. Lucas squints to block out the harshness of it.

“I’m okay,” Lucas says, “You?”

Julien nods, looking up towards the changing electronic timetable above them, “Good, yeah. Just heading home.”

Lucas hums, nodding along with him. And, this. This is a silence Lucas would define as awkward. The heaviness of it sits uneasy in Lucas’ stomach, pushes at his lungs to _ say something _ , _ make it less unbearable. _ That’s never how it is with Eliott, never is there a necessity to fill an empty space with words that have no meaning just for the sake of it.

And Lucas likes it that way.

Eventually, Julien speaks again, “Did you—” he pauses, glances at Eliott briefly, then, “Did you get the message I sent you, earlier?”

Lucas blinks, dares not to follow the path Julien’s own gaze had just made.

“No, sorry,” he answers, confused. “I uh, I switched my phone off to study,” he explains, fingers fiddling around each other absentmindedly, propelled by a distant twist of nerves.

He feels Eliott shift next to him, but he doesn’t speak.

“Ah,” Julien nods in understanding. “Okay, well. When you switch it back on, then. Let me know what you think.”

Swallowing, Lucas says, “Sure.” He has a vague idea of what Julien would message him about, then feel the need to follow up on. But it’s one that Lucas really just doesn’t want to think about right now.

Thankfully, it’s then that their bus decides to pull up along the pavement, and Lucas stands, Eliott following closely behind.

“This is us.” Lucas gestures to the bus a little stupidly. “Uh. See you.”

Juilen smiles, it’s warm but in a way that doesn’t sit right.

“See you, Lucas,” he says, then throwing a nod Eliott’s way, “You too, man.”

Eliott doesn’t respond verbally, but Lucas is already pulling him by the arm onto the bus to even give him the chance. They’re seated on the bus for approximately ten seconds before Eliott finally speaks.

“What’s that guy’s deal?” he scoffs lightly.

Lucas levels him with a curious gaze. “Hm?” he hums in question, “Julien?”

Eliott nods.

Pursing his lips, Lucas shrugs. “Nothing, really.” _ It isn’t important, _ Lucas wants to say, ** _he_ ** _ isn’t important. _ But decides against it, it’s useless, anyway. Doesn’t want to sit through another one of Eliott’s agonizing speeches on how they can end this if Lucas likes someone else.

He doesn’t.

“Nothing?” Eliott asks, voice edging on timid, unsure. Or maybe it’s just the shattering engine of the bus tainting Lucas’ senses, causing him to hear things different than they are.

Lucas lets out an unexpected laugh, “What do you look so worried for?” he teases. “You think I’m gonna run off with some tall blonde, let him whisk me away and then get married on some random Greek island?”

Lucas jokes about these things, you see, because otherwise he doesn’t know what else he would do. He can brush it off until he is blue in the face, he can joke about it until Eliott is giggling enough to just forget about it, or, he can tell Eliott the truth—that it _ is _ nothing because Eliott is everything.

But _ that— _that is a horrendously terrible, terrible idea that Lucas will never ever indulge in.

So. He jokes, and Eliott laughs, and it’s fine. It’s fine.

“I wouldn’t put it past your dramatic ass to want to get married on a fancy Greek island, actually,” Eliott jabs back.

Lucas grins, “You know me so well, baby.”

It works, and the mood shifts back to normal. And Eliott doesn’t ask any more questions about Julien because there are none.

Not here, with him. There never is.

It isn’t until later that night when Lucas is folding his laundry that he remembers to check messenger for the text from Julien. He pulls up the app, sighing when he sees the chat pop up.

_ Hey Lucas! _ it says. Lucas rolls his eyes at the unnecessary enthusiasm. _ Just wanted to see if you’ve changed your mind about that date yet? Raincheck, maybe? _

With a scoff, Lucas swipes out of the chat and throws his phone onto his bed.

What is it with this guy and not being able to catch a hint, seriously.

*

Lucas is in the kitchen, gazing longingly into his empty cupboard like if he stares long enough the groceries he forgot to buy this week might just magically appear there, when Yann creeps up behind him.

It’s an attack, really, and Lucas is fucking tired of people sneaking up on him like this. His heart is fragile enough, barely hanging on by a thread as it is.

“What are you looking for?” Yann bellows into his ear, loud and sudden.

Lucas, amid his minor heart attack, whips around to glare at Yann.

“What the fuck?” he says, tone flat and annoyed.

Yann only chuckles, sneaking a glance over Lucas’ head and into his pathetic excuse of a food cupboard. He grimaces, looking back down to Lucas. “I have pasta,” he provides, “I’ll let you share it with me if you make it.”

Lucas pretends to mull the offer over. Even though Lucas hates scrounging off his friends, he is, and not to sound dramatic, extremely desperate. The thought of having to walk to the store in the freezing cold right now does not sound appealing whatsoever. So. It’s a no brainer, really, but he won’t give Yann the satisfaction of knowing as such.

“Fine. Deal,” Lucas decides eventually.

Yann smiles, reaching into his own cupboard for the pasta along with a jar of pasta sauce and then hands both over for Lucas to get to work.

As Lucas begins to boil some water in a pan, Yann tells him about his day, and it’s all very normal, but a little too much, Lucas thinks, as Yann says again about how long his lecture had dragged on that morning.

“You’re being weird,” Lucas observes casually, sneaking a glance at Yann who now sits atop of the kitchen counter next to him.

Yann seems taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Lucas would drop it, only, Yann’s defensiveness speaks volumes he can’t ignore.

“You’re talking at rapid speed, man,” Lucas explains. “So, either there’s something you need to tell me, or you want to ask me something. Am I wrong?”

Yann huffs out a nervous laugh. “Shit. Is that what they teach you in those psychology classes of yours? Mind reading or what.”

Rolling his eyes, Lucas looks back to the pasta to give it a stir. “Yes. Mind reading, Yann. You got me, that’s exactly what it is.”

It’s not mind reading as much as it is Yann being so dreadfully readable Lucas wouldn’t even need to know the ins and outs of behaviour analysis to be able to tell he’s acting off. The way he bites at his bottom lip like there’s no feeling in there whatsoever is evidence enough.

“So?” Lucas prompts when Yann makes no effort to indulge him. “Was there something?”

Yann sighs, bites at his lip a few more times. Lucas almost tells him to stop, but he doesn’t want to intrude on his friend’s inner conflict more than he already has.

“Yeah, it’s—” Yann cuts himself off with a huff of frustration. “It’s something I’ve noticed, just. And I don’t want you to, like, freak out or anything. I just wanted to ask you before drawing my own conclusions. Hear it from you first. Because I care about you, you know that?”

And that. That certainly, out of all the things Yann could say, does not sound good at all.

Lucas nods, his heartbeat making itself sincerely known, panic increasing, slow yet turbulent. But he swallows, because it could be anything, there is no eligible reason to panic just yet. It’s fine.

“Okay,” Lucas says calmly. “What is it?”

Now looking Lucas dead in the eyes, perhaps so he can discern any flickers of hesitance, catch him out if he tries to lie since Lucas, himself, has never been so good at masking his true feelings behind his facial expressions, Yann asks, “Are you sleeping with Eliott?”

Lucas is, and rightfully so, dumbfounded.

“Wh—what?” Lucas flounders, his panic now a raging thunderstorm striking intense bursts of lightning throughout his entire body as he tenses up.

But Yann must see something else behind the panic in Lucas’ eyes.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he says.

Lucas has no words. He can’t lie, not now, not with Yann here looking at him like this. Like he’s concerned for Lucas’ wellbeing and the mere thought is killing him inside. Removing the pot of pasta from the hob, Lucas sighs, _ deflates _ . _ This is it, _Lucas thinks, the day Lucas gets murdered in cold blood by his best friend and he only has himself to put forth for the blame.

“How did—” Lucas shakes his head, thinks, _ how is this fucking happening to me? _“How did you know?”

Yann, when he looks at Lucas now, displays an extreme image of flabbergasted. Shocked like he had been half expecting Lucas to say no despite the fact he was the one who asked in the first place. Like he doesn’t know whether to take the information and flee on the next flight to Mexico or shove it back into Lucas’ mouth and pretend he never said it. Both of which seem a little to Lucas like there is no way this conversation won’t end badly.

“You’re—” Yann breathes, sliding off the counter and dropping his head into his hands. “You’re fucking serious?”

Sheepishly, hands fisting into the countertop to mask how hard he’s trembling, Lucas nods. It’s slight, but Yann catches it through the gap in his own fingers.

“How did you know?” Lucas asks again. Thinks he can’t say anything else until he knows.

Dropping his hands from his face, Yann exhales sharply. “I mean, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure. It was more of a hunch. But I’ve noticed how you two always sneak off when we’re out, how you’ve started staying over at his more often, and him here, too.” He begins to pace, moving over to the table and then back again stressfully with his hand running over his face. “And then the _ hickeys _, Lucas, which are pretty fucking obvious, by the way.”

Lucas pushes himself away from the counter, shaking hands reaching into one of the overhead cupboards for two bowls. He had thought, stupidly, that he had masked the hickeys pretty well. Nobody had mentioned them, he was careful, _ they _ were careful.

But, in hindsight, maybe Lucas should have seen this coming. Admittedly, as of recent, he has become a lot more careless with the way he loves Eliott.

Yann continues. “Baz saw you two go into a bathroom stall together, one night.” Lucas snaps his head over to Yann, is extremely shocked to see that he looks a little hurt. “He came back ecstatic about it, yelling it to everyone. And I thought, _ surely not, right? _ There must be another explanation, because while everyone else thinks you two are actually together, and to them, seeing something like that is just entertaining, means nothing more. I know different.”

Lucas swallows, doesn’t like at all the look on Yann’s face right now. Betrayal, perhaps. There’s nothing worse than being the cause of the way one of your closest friends looks as though they want to melt into the cracks of the floor tiles with how betrayed they feel.

“And for a while I thought maybe you finally saw sense and told Eliott how you feel. That this was good,” Yann levels him with a searching look. “But I’m guessing by how you haven’t come shouting it from the rooftops by now, and the fact that you’re still doing this whole idiotic fake dating thing, that, that isn’t so much the case.”

When Lucas doesn’t say anything, only returns to dishing out equal amounts of pasta into each bowl, some pieces missing completely with how his hands tremble, Yann sighs again. “So?” he asks, voice raised and agitated with Lucas’ lack of cooperation.

One of the bowls slips out of Lucas’ grasp, clanking onto the kitchen counter and splattering pasta everywhere.

Lucas exhales sharply.

“What do you want me to fucking say, Yann?” he turns around, throwing his arms up exasperatedly. “You got it all right, okay? Yes, I’m sleeping with Eliott, and no, I haven’t told him how I feel because I’m still just a fucking coward. Is that what you want me to say?”

Yann looks thrown off by Lucas’ outburst for a few seconds, but his shock is swiftly replaced with irritation.

“I just want to help you, Lucas. Don’t you get that?”

If Lucas is glad of one thing right now, it’s that he and Yann are alone in the flat. Because they’re yelling, now, and if by any chance Arthur or Basile were to overhear, well, that would be another disaster all on its own.

“Maybe I don’t need your help! Did you ever think about that?”

Yann scoffs incredulously. “Do you hear yourself, right now? You’re literally sleeping with your best friend who you’re in love with and he doesn’t even fucking know! Do you two even fucking talk?”

Folding his arms and looking away petulantly, Lucas says, “I’m not a child, Yann. I know what I’m doing. And look,” he waves a hand in front of Yann’s face, “I’m fine!” He really, is not fine. But it’s whatever. “You don’t need to worry. Eliott and I have this under control. It’s just a few casual hook-ups.”

Again, with an aggravated grunt, Yann derides Lucas’ words. “What did I ask you when this whole thing started?” Lucas shrugs, Yann had said and asked a lot of things, but nothing in particular comes to mind. “I asked you what happens when you want more, when pretending isn’t enough,” Yann provides, then pointing at Lucas frenziedly, “This!” he exclaims, “_ This _ is what happens, Lucas! I just don’t understand how you think you can come out of this without getting your feelings hurt at this point.”

He says the last part with a softer edge to his voice. Lucas’ heart pangs momentarily, but he’s shaking his head to rid himself of the feeling as quickly as it comes. Doesn’t want it to think it can make a home there.

“Yeah, Well. Good thing it isn’t any of your business, then.” Lucas, he’s aware, sounds pettish, but he’s just so—_ so angry _. The fact that Yann thinks he can just come up to Lucas and tell him how to live his life, all condescending as though Lucas is made from glass and one wrong move will have his insides shattering into a million shards all over the place for everyone to see.

Lucas is not, and he repeats, _ not _, going to let anyone tell him how or when he has to tell Eliott about his feelings. If ever, that is.

So. Yeah. Maybe, if he were in a righter, more calm state of mind, Lucas wouldn’t blow up so much. But he’s a little like an untamed match, see, one tiny spark and he’s igniting like a raging inferno until everything he sees and touches is red and burning.

“I think you made it my business when you told me about this whole thing just to save your own ass without even thinking of how I might feel about it!” Yann shouts, hands gesturing wildly in the air. “You think I like lying to my friends?” he steps closer, “laughing along when they talk about how amazing of a couple you two are like I don’t know? Playing them like they’re fucking _ idiots _?”

Lucas, with his heart in his throat, decides then—because as much of an asshole he is, he really doesn’t want to say something he’ll regret—that leaving is probably his best bet right now.

Yann grips him by the elbow to stop him as he tries to storm out.

“Lucas,” he says defeatedly, “don’t fucking walk away.”

Lucas snaps his arm back, turning to face Yann. “I’m just sick of this Yann,” he explains. “Sick of you telling me I need to tell Eliott how I feel when I don’t fucking _ want _ to. I know him better than anyone else in the entire world, believe me when I say I know what I’m doing.”

Yann shakes his head, “The thing is Lucas, I can’t. I can’t just sit back and watch you ruin your life like this. It’s driving me fucking crazy. You need to talk to Eliott, bro, _ seriously _. Otherwise this is going to end in a giant mess and both of you are going to get hurt. You’re going to get your heart broken.”

Distantly, Lucas thinks that’s a little bit of an exaggeration. He’s fine. He’s so unbelievably fine and things with Eliott are better than they ever have been so he doesn’t understand what the problem is. Their arrangement has been working. _ It’s good. _

“Just stay out of my business, okay?” Lucas snaps. And, with that, leaves a stunned Yann staring after him in the middle of their kitchen.

He’s grabbing his coat and is out of the front door before Yann can chase after him. But Lucas thinks, after that, it is unlikely he would even want to.

Lucas is, evidently, a pathetic excuse of a friend. This isn’t new information, not to Yann, not to anyone.

He doesn’t deserve to be chased after, not really.

*

Lucas is knocking on Eliott’s apartment door before he can even fully register what he’s doing.

He had stormed out of his own place and into the harsh rainfall with nothing but a muddle of rage in his head, and his heart clawing at his chest; thoughts unable to break through the barrier of frustration that scratches at his skin. He had then angrily walked all the way to Eliott’s because the journey is familiar and easy and there were no busses for the next thirty minutes.

Thankfully, upon arriving at Eliott’s building, there had been a man leaving, holding the door ajar long enough for Lucas to slip through. Again, easy, he doesn’t have to think at all.

Idriss is the one who answers, looking down at a panting, soaking wet Lucas with concern in his eyes.

“Lucas?” he sounds surprised to see him here. “Is everything okay?”

Ignoring the question entirely, Lucas rushes out, “Is Eliott here?” It comes out all as one word, but he thinks Idriss gets it.

“Yeah, uh,” he steps to the side, “come in. He’s in his room.”

Lucas mumbles a vague thank you, pushing past Idriss and ignoring the confused look Sofiane sends him from the kitchen as he passes. Then, knocking on Eliott’s bedroom door, waits for any sign of life.

When a muffled, “Yeah?” comes from the other side of the door, Lucas takes this as invitation enough, and pushes the door handle down to let himself slide into the room.

Now, standing here, in Eliott’s bedroom, with Eliott glancing up from his desk and then doing an actual double take because he had probably expected it to be Idriss or Sofiane just coming to annoy him instead, Lucas feels a little stupid. Stupid, because he feels like crying and he doesn’t know why.

Eliott stands, crossing the room so that he’s right up in Lucas’ space by the door. “Hey,” he whispers, “did you walk here in that rain? What is it? Are you okay?”

The questions, as they come all at once, feel overwhelming in their spoken tenderness. The concern is clear and soft in Eliott’s eyes as he searches Lucas face for answers. Of course Eliott—lovely, amazing, wonderful Eliott—would drop everything to try and pick up the pieces of something he knows nothing about.

Lucas, swallowing the lump in his throat, wills himself not to cry. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Eliott right now. But his lips betray him, wobbling when he tries to speak. He snaps them shut, swallowing again but harder this time. Eliott must sense how he’s struggling, see how pathetically close to tears Lucas is, as he steps forward again, cupping Lucas’ face firmly with his hands and bringing their foreheads together.

“_ Hey _,” he says again, more urgently, but gentle, still.

When Lucas shuts his eyes against the pressure of their foreheads the tears fall all on their own, disobedient and tragic. Eliott is quick to swipe them away with his fingertips, and then his hands drop from Lucas’ face, a coldness settling over his damp skin, but only for as long as it takes Eliott to pull Lucas tight into his chest with his arms around Lucas’ shoulders. And that’s when the floodgate collapses, and Lucas sobs into Eliott’s chest with his arms around his waist and his hands clinging helplessly to the material of his t-shirt.

“It’s okay,” Eliott whispers soft words of encouragement into Lucas’ damp hair, “I’ve got you,” he soothes, hand running up and down Lucas’ back. “You’re okay, love. I’ve got you.”

_ Love. _Lucas cries even harder.

After a while, and reluctantly, Lucas pulls back, frowning at the darkened spot of tears he’s left on Eliott’s shirt. “Sorry,” he murmurs, wiping at the mark like it’ll somehow make it disappear. Eliott places a hand over Lucas’ to stop him from fretting. “Let’s get you into some dry clothes before you catch a cold, yeah?” he says.

Lucas sniffs, letting Eliott wipe away the last few remaining tears from his cheeks. “Okay,” he nods. Then watches distantly as Eliott leaves him to retrieve some dry clothes from his wardrobe, then sets them onto the bed.

“I’m gonna go get a towel for your hair, okay?” he explains, stepping around Lucas to get to the door. Lucas only nods, moving further into the room to lift the clothes from the bed.

By the time Eliott returns Lucas is already finished changing. And he’ll admit, he does feel a little better now that his damp clothes aren’t clinging uncomfortably to his skin. Eliott’s clothes are far too big for Lucas’ smaller frame. The sleeves of the sweater hang over his hands and the cuffs of the sweats pool at his ankles slightly. But they’re warm, at least, and they smell so distinctly of Eliott that Lucas kind of wants to melt into the soft fabric and stay wrapped in it forever.

“Here,” Eliott offers Lucas the towel, which he accepts, bringing it to his hair and making sure to catch the droplets that run down his neck.

“Thank you,” Lucas whispers, handing the towel back when he’s finished. Eliott takes it and throws it to the floor alongside the rest of Lucas’ wet clothes in a way that says _ we can deal with those later. _

Eliott looks back to Lucas with a worried look in his eyes, and it breaks Lucas’ heart, it does. Making Eliott worry about him is the last thing Lucas would want. He doesn’t, really, know why he chose, out of all places, to come here. Especially when Eliott is the reason for his and Yann’s argument. But there’s something about being with Eliott that makes Lucas feel safe, it always has been that way. It’s the familiarity of knowing, no matter what, Lucas has him, and he has Lucas.

Maybe that’s why, with Yann, Lucas had freaked out so much. Because telling Eliott how he feels introduces a new territory of uncertainty. There is no apparent endgame, you cannot simply predict the outcome of something like that, telling your best friend of twelve years that you’re in love with them. The thought that, one day, if it got out, Lucas might not have Eliott in _ any _way, is hands down the most terrifying feeling in the entire world.

Lucas’ eyes begin to well up again at the thought.

“Shit,” Eliott breathes out, “hey, come here.”

He takes Lucas by the hand and guides him towards the bed, then, climbing on top of it, pulls Lucas along with him, fumbling with the sheets until they are both blanketed underneath. He tucks Lucas back into his chest, after that, and the warmth it brings to Lucas’ bones is unlike anything else.

With Eliott’s arms engulfing him entirely, the embrace begins to loosen the tight knot of Lucas’ worries, panic unravelling into a thin line. Lucas feels every ounce of what is him press into every ounce that is Eliott. Lucas, as though a butterfly longing for its cocoon, shuffles himself closer until there is no telling where one boy ends and the other begins. It feels safe, like words muttered in soft unspoken, a delicate wall of protection. Lucas sighs as the warmth takes root and spreads throughout his entire body, like a vine growing and growing until its flowers bloom, his rain-soaked skin tingling with the newfound heat.

Eliott presses a few faint kisses to the top of Lucas’ head, holds him tight until his body isn’t trembling so much, until his shuddering breaths subside and all that is left is the sound of soft muffled pants spilling into the room.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Eliott’s voice, when it cuts into the silence, is gentle.

Lucas shifts so he can look at Eliott, who wipes a hand over Lucas’ cheek again. His tears have mostly dried by now, tracks causing his skin to feel all dry and tight. But Eliott does it anyway, softly, Lucas leans into the touch and feels his heart swell when Eliott keeps his hand there.

And, thinking of Eliott’s question, how it rings a familiarity to what he’s been hearing a lot recently, within his own head and from Yann, too, Lucas finds himself lost.

_ Talk about it. _

Lucas closes his eyes and he sees the word imprinted into the darkness he finds there. _ Talk, talk, talk, _it says. He thinks, as bright spots of red and blue float over the letters, if not talking is the reason his chest always feels so heavy. If holding all of this inside of him is truly weighing him down.

Time passes, and Eliott doesn’t press Lucas for an answer, maybe he’s decided that Lucas has fallen asleep. But he continues to run a soothing hand through Lucas’ hair, fingers scratching at his scalp every so often in a way that makes Lucas want to purr like a damn kitten.

It isn’t often, when Eliott asks Lucas that same question, that Lucas is left stuck between two paths. Usually he says yes or no and they can go from there, things are resolved or they move on and it’s fine. But, now, as Eliott’s words replay over and over in his head, as _ Yann’s _words replay in his head—Lucas has no idea which way he should go.

On one hand, telling Eliott he does want to talk about it means he’ll have to tell him about the argument with Yann, which, along with that, comes telling Eliott that he’s in love with him. Which is, still, completely off the table. But the thought of not talking about it is eating Lucas alive. If the argument had been about literally anything else, he would probably be halfway through spilling his entire heart out to Eliott by now to the point where he has to physically force himself to shut up.

In the end, Lucas reopens his eyes to find Eliott still looking at him, facial expression soft and open, it all feels like a lot. Lucas almost has to look away. But he exhales shakily, licking his lips and swallowing so that his voice doesn’t crack as he speaks, and he says, “I don’t know.”

Pathetic and weak, is what it sounds like. It sounds like giving up.

Eliott moves closer, close enough that their foreheads touch, noses brushing lightly.

“That’s okay,” he breathes out, and then, in a low murmur, “I don’t want you to feel sad.” He speaks with such a serene sincerity it makes Lucas’ heart clench.

“I’m not sad,” Lucas answers in a whisper, focuses on only the points at which Eliott is touching him; their foreheads, noses, Eliott’s hand along Lucas’ cheek, Lucas’ arm around Eliott’s waist, their legs tangled together underneath the duvet. “Not here, not with you,” Lucas adds.

When Eliott smiles, it’s a little weak. Although it isn’t pitiful. Lucas doesn’t quite understand it, is too exhausted at this point to think past it. But it’s an ethereal one, nonetheless.

“You know,” Eliott whispers, “When I’m feeling down, it helps when you just talk to me. Like, how you just tell me about your day, stupid things, really. But it’s nice, I think, just hearing your voice.”

Lucas doesn’t entirely know what to do with that kind of heartfelt confession. It is something he does, when Eliott is having a few bad days and doesn’t really feel up to doing much. Lucas doesn’t mind it, just lying with him and chatting nonsense until the sun goes down; even if Eliott doesn’t say much in response, Lucas still does it. Not because he feels like he has to, but because that’s just what you do for the people you love, you’re there for them even when times get tough.

“Do you want me to try?” Eliott speaks again, and Lucas’ heart melts. He nods.

Eliott tilts Lucas’ face up with his hand, tilts it until he doesn’t have to anymore and their lips connect and Lucas kisses him back. It feels a little surreal, but the way Eliott sighs into the kiss makes the mess in Lucas’ head fall away like smoke, loud screams subsiding to soft whispers. They don’t, usually, do this. This, making out just because maybe the moment had felt right, lazily falling into one another with tentative lips and lingering touches because the ache of being closer bypasses the one that tries to keep them apart.

It’s a stark polarity to the usual heedless make out sessions that occur before they get each other off.

Lucas hasn’t decided whether the way Eliott cradles his face as though he holds the entire universe within him excites him or frightens him.

He’s too exhausted to think about it.

Once they’ve separated, Eliott whispers soft words to Lucas that fill his head with comfort and flush out all the bad. He tells Lucas about the project he’s filming for uni, falls into a lengthy analysis of the book he read at the weekend, and it is, as Eliott said, nice. Just really fucking nice to hear Eliott’s voice and know there is no demand for him to pick up the other end of the conversation. He listens, just, with his eyes shut and Eliott tracing soothing patterns onto his lower back where his sweater has ridden up and it all just feels so nice.

After a while, when darkness settles over the city outside, streetlights shimmering in through the window, Eliott slips out of bed to draw the curtains. He clicks on a side lamp, illuminating the room in a muted orange glow, and returns with his laptop.

“Do you want to watch something?” he asks, settling back under the covers. Lucas automatically goes straight for him again, melting into his side. It’s because it’s cold, here, without Eliott pressed up against him, is what Lucas tells himself as Eliott wraps an arm around Lucas to hold him there.

“Okay,” Lucas answers, watching as Eliott loads up Netflix.

They end up watching some weird comedy, Lucas with his head on Eliott’s chest and Eliott lying on his back with his hand running through Lucas’ hair the entire time. Lucas doesn’t really pay much attention to the movie in the end, but it’s a nice enough distraction.

When the movie finishes Eliott asks Lucas if he would like to stay over.

“I’m not—” he sighs, “I’m not really in the mood to do stuff, Eli.” Lucas hates how he failed to notice the point at which the definition of staying over flipped from strictly platonic to having other motives. How there’s maybe a hint of expectancy, there.

But Eliott shakes his head, “That’s not why I’m asking.”

“Oh,” Lucas breathes, “Sorry.” The apology comes without thought, a knee-jerk reaction.

“Don’t apologise,” Eliott mumbles. “I’m asking you to stay because you look like you need some company. And because I want you to. But only if you want to.”

Eliott glances away and then back again, his bottom lip caught in his teeth. The way he lies next to Lucas with his hair splayed chaotically over his pillow is a little hilarious to Lucas. He asks himself how the fuck he managed to end up here.

“I do want to,” Lucas says, and then, “thank you.” He doesn’t know specifically what he’s thanking Eliott for. For putting up with his incessant breakdowns, perhaps, for being here, for being so damn lovely. Always and no matter what.

Eliott smiles, shrugging awkwardly in his sideways position. “Well. That’s what best friends are for, right?”

And, yes. Yet again, reality weaves itself into the calm, starting off slow and then crashing into Lucas’ lungs all at once until he can’t breathe. Until the light in his heart is stolen and replaced with black.

_ That’s what best friends are for _.

“Right,” Lucas whispers, pushes down the waves of _ but what if _ and _ maybe _that try to break through the darkness.

They don’t belong there, anyway. Not in this universe.

*

The following day Lucas returns to the flat.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Yann and Basile sitting on the living room sofa, but he keeps his head forwards and darts straight for his room, flicking the lock once the door is shut. He is too tired, too unsettled and far too confused to deal with anyone right now.

The thing is, this morning, Eliott had woken Lucas with breakfast in bed. The dish had looked a little sad as it sat on his lap—slightly burnt toast under a too hard fried egg along with black coffee because he was out of milk. But he had tried his goddamn best and the sentiment was there.

Plus, it tasted okay, so Lucas had been pleased enough.

And not just that. Eliott had offered to walk him home, but Lucas, being as stubborn as he is, told him that it was fine, that he would be okay. So instead Eliott accompanied him out of the building, as a compromise, just, and as Lucas had turned to leave with yet another thank you and goodbye, Eliott had pulled him back and into a deep kiss. A kiss that lingered and made Lucas’ knees feel weak, and, when Eliott had pulled away, it was only to lean back in with a gentle kiss to Lucas’ forehead. Followed by a soft _ be safe _ mumbled into the skin there. Lucas had chuckled lightly, said, _ okay mother, _voice stunned but he thinks he had masked it well, because it’s just a little dramatic of Eliott to tell him to be safe on a five minute bus journey.

So. That’s where the confusion stems, because that’s not what best friends do, and it’s not what fuck buddies do, either. There’s a line in between there that is blurred and Lucas just can’t quite understand what it is, or what to do with it.

It’s that same distant melody that plays back to him, only this time it rings out in full force, loud and resounding and absolutely terrifying.

_ What if Eliott does feel the same? _

The thought, as quickly as it comes, is stomped out.

But, Lucas won’t lie, as he lies in bed that night it returns, and it stays until he finally falls asleep sometime after 3am. And then again, it pops up when he meets Eliott the next day for coffee in between classes, and yet, again, that evening when he texts Lucas to say he’s washed the clothes he left and will return them once they’re dry.

Lucas’ heart, no matter how much he tries to battle with his own head, won’t let the thought go.

*

It’s a few days later that Eliott corners Lucas as he’s leaving his last lecture of the day.

As predicted amidst winter’s essence, the afternoon unfolds with a wary dullness, the sun gone before it has even fully arrived. That is, the literal sun. The embodiment of such skips right up to Lucas with a wide grin and a takeaway coffee cup in his hand, presses it into Lucas’ chest, and proceeds to tell him that he has a surprise for him. And Lucas thinks, _ yes, this is it, the real sun. _

“You mean the free coffee isn’t the surprise?” Lucas teases, because he doesn’t really know what to make of Eliott coming here like this looking like he’s been crafted by angels and softness, skin all glowing and smile pretty.

Eliott scoffs, “How dare you. I can do so much better than that and you know it.”

Humming, Lucas begins to walk backwards towards the path that leads them to the campus gates, “You’ll just have to prove it then, won’t you?”

With a smile, Eliott shrugs, “Oh easily,” he says, and then, “And Lucas?”

Lucas raises his eyebrows in question.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Eliott nods towards him.

Lucas pauses. “I knew that,” he scoffs lightly.

He then lets a giggling Eliott lead the way out of a different gate. And he doesn’t even get annoyed when he steals several sips of Lucas’ coffee on the way there.

To Lucas’ surprise, Eliott takes him back to his apartment.

And it’s not like Lucas is disappointed (he doesn’t even know what the surprise is yet, for god's sake) but it’s just that when Eliott mentioned a surprise Lucas hadn’t envisioned Eliott’s apartment as the destination for something he’s played up as _ the most amazing surprise Lucas will ever receive in his life. _

“Is it Chris Hemsworth?” Lucas strikes his probably one hundredth guess as they’re climbing the stairs of Eliott’s apartment building. “Oh my god, Eliott. If Chris Hemsworth is sitting in your apartment right now I think I’ll die.”

Eliott bursts into laughter, it’s a pleasant contrast to the annoyed whines he had been letting out because he said Lucas was going to ruin it for himself if he kept guessing.

“No, it’s not Chris Hemsworth,” he says, turning on the stairs to face Lucas, taking the last few steps backwards.

Lucas sighs, “Well, that’s a let down.”

Eliott rolls his eyes to feign annoyance, but completely contradicts himself by smiling straight after.

“It’s better than that,” he promises. “Come on.”

He takes the last few steps to his apartment, but instead of stopping to fish out his keys like Lucas expects him to, he walks straight past and proceeds up the stairs.

“Uh. Where are you going?” Lucas asks.

Eliott only continues to climb the stairs. “No more talking,” he orders. “Just follow.”

Lucas, fearing for whatever Eliott has instore for him, decides to just shut up and follow without any further protest. They eventually reach a door, and Eliott instructs Lucas to close his eyes, which he only agrees to because his stomach is lurching so much with the anticipation of what Eliott has devised up that he can’t really do anything else.

Allowing Eliott to guide him in the darkness comes easily to Lucas, he shuts his eyes and falls into step with Eliott’s hands on his shoulders and his chest pressed to Lucas’ back. When cold air falls over Lucas’ skin he knows they’ve stepped outside, and he feels Eliott move around to his front.

“Okay,” Eliott whispers. “You can open them now.”

It all happens, you see, like the explosion of a star.

Lucas flutters his eyes open and he’s met with a sea of light. Thousands and thousands of flickering lights; fairy lights, candles and lanterns, all dispersed around, Lucas notes, the rooftop they’re standing on, illuminating beautifully against the dark of the evening. Then Lucas sees the pile of blankets and pillows arranged in the corner of the roof, pizza box placed to the side next to a bottle of what looks to be wine.

Slowly, a little dumbly, Lucas’ gaze darts over the scene in front of him. It is all right there, staring right at him, dazzling and bright like a million stars, but taking it all in makes time slip into slow motion.

The stars explode and along with it Lucas’ breath is knocked out of him.

“Ta da!” Eliott jumps a little on the spot with excitement. “What do you think?”

Lucas shakes his head in disbelief. “You did this for me?”

Eliott nods, smiling softly. “Well, yeah.” He says it, like it’s obvious, as though why _ wouldn’t _he do something so plainly romantic for someone like Lucas?

“But why?”

Lucas feels like he can’t breathe.

Shrugging, Eliott looks to the side. “The other day, you were upset, and I thought—I thought this might cheer you up.” He pauses, takes in what is Lucas’ most likely terrified expression and panics. “If it’s too much I can—"

Lucas is shaking his head to interject before Eliott has the chance to get the words out.

“I love it,” Lucas says. Means it wholeheartedly, even if the thought of Eliott putting together something as beautiful as _ this _just because Lucas got his head in a twist and came to him crying, makes his heart skip every other beat. “Thank you.”

Eliott’s eyes, when he smiles, illuminate against the glow of the lights surrounding them, his skin diffused in a pale gold. He is, and Lucas puts this bluntly, the most beautiful person in the entire fucking world.

“Come on, then,” Eliott grins, tugging Lucas by the hand and towards the mountain of blankets.

As they settle down, Eliott opens the pizza box to reveal a double pepperoni, because it’s Lucas’ favourite, of course. Lucas moans as he lifts a slice and it drips beautifully with grease. Then, once their stomachs are satisfied and pleasantly full, Eliott pours them a glass of white wine each. It’s cheap stuff, but Lucas still teases him for trying to pretend they’re classy when really Lucas is happy enough getting drunk off budget brand vodka that tastes a little like it could mop a floor.

And the entire time he can’t help but think that this feels a lot like a date.

The thought only grows in capacity and increases in sound as they melt further into the blankets and their bodies press up against one another.

_ You think this is what best friends do for each other? _ it taunts. Its wicked laughter mocks him, says, _ are you stupid? Can you not see what this is? _ Lucas looks at Eliott under the reflection of the stars, how he looks back at Lucas and the glow of lights paints him in fire, and he wonders, _ what are you thinking? _

“I have one more thing for you,” Eliott says later into the night, the bottle of wine now close to empty and the blankets pulled up to their shoulders to block out the cold of winter.

Lucas shifts so that he has a better view of Eliott. “Oh yeah?”

Nodding shyly, Eliott reaches behind him and pulls out a wrapped gift.

“I was going to wait and give it to you as a Christmas present, but I wanted to give it to you now instead. If that’s okay.”

He doesn’t say why, but deep down Lucas thinks, _ hopes _, he might know the answer.

Taking the present into his hands, Lucas inspects it carefully. His hands are apprehensive when Eliott urges him to open it. Then, peeling back the wrapping paper, Lucas sees a slick black, leather book unfold—or, it’s not just a book, but a sketchbook, Lucas realises, when the last of the wrapping paper falls to the ground.

Lucas, too afraid to glance back at Eliott and be struck with too much of an overwhelming expression, opens to the first page. Alone, right in the centre in Eliott’s careful handwriting it says, _ for Lucas. _ Lucas’ breath hitches, turning to the second page to find various little sketches, some rougher, as if started but given up on, others more detailed and coherent—all of them beautiful, all of them are of _ him _ . The following pages are similar, drawings Eliott has done of not only Lucas but of memories, too. There’s one of a beach, it reminds Lucas of the weekend they spent in _ La Rochelle _last summer, then, another splattered with a rainbow of colours, a depiction of the mural they painted together during high school. Along with those there are a few cartoon-like sketches, racoons and hedgehogs wandering chaotically along each page as though on their own little adventures.

Every flick of a page brings more and more memories and drawings and little side notes Eliott has written to explain certain pieces. It must have taken him ages to put together, Lucas thinks, his eyes glazing over with the thought.

And, with every page, comes a deeper engraving of Yann’s words in Lucas’ head.

_ Eliott could feel the same. You should tell him, you never know what would happen. What happens when you want more, when pretending isn’t enough? You need to talk to Eliott. Both of you are going to get hurt. You’re going to get your heart broken. _

This, it feels a little like that. Like getting his heart broken.

“Eliott,” Lucas shudders out, hadn’t even realised he’s started to cry until a tear drops onto the page he’s stopped at and it smudges some of the ink there. He has no words, but he also has too many all at once.

_ This is beautiful, _ he wants to say. _ You’re so amazing, so talented. How do I deserve you? _ his voice tries to scream. He looks at Eliott and he thinks, _ I’m so in love with you but I don’t know how to say it. I’m so fucking scared of losing you. _

In the end, Eliott shakes his head lightly, “You don’t have to say anything,” is what he says. Maybe he gets it, understands the intensity of the moment and how it all feels like too much. Instead he closes Lucas into a hug.

And it’s a hug so immensely ardent it captures every word that’s gone unsaid. It feels so much like coming home Lucas never wants to let go.

He wants nothing more than to ask, to pull away and just say it, _ do you feel it? Do you feel the way the universe has put us here together like it was always meant to be? _ But the moment, with its purity and rawness, is delicate, still. As much as Lucas feels the sudden nerve to finally do it, confidence trying to cut through the surface of his skin, he doesn’t.

Because, maybe, Lucas knows, now. And in the moment, in Eliott’s arms, warm and safe, the realisation on its own is enough.

Eliott kisses Lucas under the glow of a million stars, softly and with his entire heart, and Lucas knows what he needs to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yann is the only person in this fic with brain cells please spare him ur thoughts 
> 
> let me know what you think! comments and kudos are very much appreciated 💛
> 
> my tumblr is [@lumierelovers](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/) and i also have a twitter [@sebslouvre](https://mobile.twitter.com/sebslouvre) that i don’t usually plug but i’m on there too ✨


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i asked on tumblr and a lot of you said you would prefer it if i mushed all of this into one chapter instead of splitting it between two, hence the reason it's 21k and why it’s taken so long. sorry if it's a mess. i've been looking at this for over a month and i've become so immune to what i've written i can't even tell what’s good anymore. thank u to everyone who has been supporting me through the hellhole that is writers block. i owe u my life 💛
> 
> i hope u all enjoy this one! it's a bit of a rollercoaster!!!

In the days that follow, Lucas thinks about that night with Eliott incessantly, all while managing to avoid Yann as much as possible in the process. Maybe it’s because he needs time to think, maybe because, deep down, he knows now that Yann had been right and that he should apologise. But the thing is, Lucas doesn’t know how.

He never really has been very good with words.

The past few days have been exhausting. The invariable draining feeling Lucas has been experiencing has adopted a static circuit, and it’s beginning the suck every ounce of life from him. Between consciously making sure he isn’t in the flat when Yann is, or if they are that they don’t bump into each other—which sounds ridiculous and a little bit excessive but Lucas just is not in the mood—to dealing with the aftermath of his and Eliott’s possible date, and attending lectures that don’t make sense, all while trying to avoid Julien (which, again, is virtually impossible) _ and _ ignoring the fact that he hasn’t been sleeping at night, is really starting to catch up with him.

And that night with Eliott, god. _ God. _ Lucas can’t stop replaying it over and over in his mind—the way Eliott had literally put his everything into making sure the night was special for Lucas, the sketchbook, the lights, the way he had kissed Lucas’ tears away when it all felt like too much.

It’s like, everything is building up, a profusion of hurdles stacking over one another until he can’t think of anything else, and it all comes down to that one little word.

_ Maybe. _

Maybe Yann is right, maybe Lucas does need to talk to Eliott, maybe there is something more between them. Maybe.

Maybe Eliott loves Lucas, too.

But those thoughts, as they come, reverberate violently against the walls of his mind, they shatter until all Lucas is left with is a pounding headache and more confusion. He is, with everything in him, still terrified. Slightly less than before, but, still.

He thinks that, distantly, that must count for something.

And Lucas _ has _ considered going to his friends for help, but the thing is, there is nobody he can go to who knows the entire backstory of what is going on. He had contemplated going to Imane, or asking Daphné, even calling Manon in London. But all circle back to the same dead end—the fact that asking them for help means telling them about the fake dating _ and _his feelings for Eliott.

Which Lucas cannot do. Not now, not yet.

Deep down, Lucas knew that, inevitably, his imprudent lies would come back to bite him in the ass. And that’s his own fault, really. This is just the aftershock of a very, terrible idea that he should have shut down the very minute it was brought up.

It’s when Lucas walks into one of the cafés on campus one afternoon that he finds Yann typing away on his laptop at one of the corner tables, and he realises the person he should have come to for help in the first place was right here all along.

Lucas makes his way over to him, lingering awkwardly by the table. “Hey,” he eventually announces his presence, twisting his fingers together nervously. “Can I sit?” Yann snaps his gaze up, eyes shocked probably because he hadn’t expected Lucas, with his known stubbornness, to be the first to break the silence between them.

“Hey,” Yann responds, “Of course.” His eyes follow Lucas’ every movement as he shuffles closer and lowers himself into the seat opposite him.

The café is busy for a Thursday afternoon, busy enough that their conversation won’t be overheard, but not too busy in a way that makes it too loud to have it. Lucas is glad of that, he just wishes he had thought to order a tea, or something, first, to calm his nerves.

He places his hands onto the table carefully, taking a deep breath before he speaks. “I need your advice,” he cuts straight to the chase.

A confused frown settles over Yann’s face as he shuts his laptop. “Oh—uh. Okay.”

Biting onto his bottom lip, “Just—You see,” Lucas sighs, “I have this friend, he’s a bit of a handful, but very smart actually, I think you’d like him.” Pausing to see if Yann is following, but finding it difficult to tell, Lucas clears his throat and continues. “And he tried to warn me of something, well, tried to give me some advice on this boy I like. But I was an asshole and shut him down. I—yeah, uh. I was a massive dick to him, basically. So, I need your advice on how I can apologise, and I’m not above humiliating myself to do so.” Lucas chuckles to himself. “Whatever it takes, really. It’s been five days and I kind of really fucking miss him.”

Yann tilts his head, considers Lucas for a few moments, levelling him with a searching look. Lucas almost squirms under the intensity of it, wonders, maybe, if he’s gone about this the complete wrong way.

But swiftly enough, a small smile works its way onto Yann’s face, faint but just about noticeable. “This friend,” he says, “does he happen to be as devilishly handsome as I am?”

“I mean, it depends on which way you look at it.”

Yann hums, as though attempting not to give too much away. “Well. I’d say if this friend was a real friend, he would understand that maybe you just needed some space, and he’d know that he acted pretty shitty too—with the things he said and the way he said them. I think he would appreciate the apology no matter how it was delivered, because he’d know it was sincere.”

Twisting the sleeves of his sweater, Eliott’s sweater, where they fall over his hands, Lucas nods. “I’m really fucking sorry, Yann,” he breaths out. “I shouldn’t have yelled or stormed out like I did. I just got so fucking scared, you know, there’s no excuse. I just didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s okay,” Yann assures. “I mean, yeah, I was pissed with you at the time. But the past few days have let me think, and I get where you’re coming from, okay? I’m sorry for being pushy about it, but I only do it because I care about you, Lu, you know that.”

“I know,” Lucas whispers. “I know. But I am sorry. And I think—” he pauses, takes another deep breath, “I think you were right.”

Yann sits up straighter in his seat at this, “Oh?”

Lucas nods, “Yeah, I—I haven’t said anything to Eliott yet. But I’ve been thinking. Thinking a lot, actually. And there’s something. Something that I haven’t fully wrapped my head around yet, but it’s just, it’s just the way he _ is _with me, Yann. I don’t understand it. One minute we’re hooking up, the next he’s telling people I’m the most important person in his life, he’s kissing me goodbye like we’re together, or something, surprising me with candlelit rooftop dinners, and then he’s right back to calling me his best friend. Like, what do I do with that?”

Yann sighs, “Yeah, okay, I see how that’s confusing for you. But, to me, it’s pretty simple actually.”

“How so?”

“You are together, you and Eliott. Like a couple.”

“No, we—” Lucas, frowning, insists, “we’re _ not _. That part isn’t real.”

“Isn’t it?” Yann challenges with a quirk to his brow. “Because to me, it sounds a lot like you’re doing everything a relationship entails—you know, hooking up, going on dates, being each other’s best friend. The only difference is that you haven’t put a label on it.”

Lucas thinks about it; the kisses that have no reason, the note Eliott wrote him in the library, the questions about Julien, the ‘date’, the sketchbook, the way he speaks about Lucas with others with no intent of it reaching Marco. And, Marco, the fact that Eliott hasn’t mentioned him nor dragged Lucas out to any kind of social outing to flaunt their relationship in front of him in _ weeks _ now.

It all feels like too pivotal of a realisation to ignore, but also too terrifying to think about. If Eliott loves Lucas back, or even has the tiniest little infinitesimal bit of feelings for him that bypass _ casual _ then what the fuck is Lucas doing here? He shakes his head, pushing the thoughts away. For now.

“But that’s not what I’m trying to say,” he tells Yann with urgency.

“What, then?”

See, Lucas isn’t entirely stupid. He knows that there is something happening between him and Eliott that isn’t considered normal. The friendship they have has always been different and then a little bit more. Always a little like a creative force. An intricate, chaotic, yet synchronized beating heart, flowing strongly, consuming them until they are shoulder deep within a universe where only they exist. Just them, up there, shining like stars in the night sky.

But not like this. Never to the extent it is now.

It’s the confusion that unsettles Lucas—the false hope it ignites in him. So. Yes. Lucas needs to talk to Eliott, he does. But not because he’s certain of any reciprocation. He needs to talk to Eliott because he needs to put a stop to whatever is going on whether the feelings are mutual or not. It’s hurting too much. As much as Lucas enjoys it, the thrill it brings him, the feeling of being on top of the world when Eliott kisses him for nobody else to see. The ache in his chest hits harder. He can’t sit back and let Eliott play with his heart like this if he doesn’t see Lucas in the way Lucas sees him. And Lucas _ knows _ he was the one who agreed to the fake dating arrangement, he’s aware that it was _ his _ idea to do casual sex. This isn’t solely on Eliott, Lucas is the one who has kept things from him and made him think that the way he’s acted is okay and that everything is fine the way it is.

But, now, Lucas sees that. He sees that and he’s going to fix it.

“I need to tell Eliott how I feel. But not because I think he loves me back, because as much I _ think _he might, I could never know that for sure. But I need the confusion to stop, I need to tell him or I think my heart will just fucking explode, Yann, whether I end up losing him forever or not. And that’s literally what you’ve been telling me from the start and I didn’t listen. So, for that, I’m sorry.”

Slowly, Yann reaches across the table to place a hand over Lucas’ forearm. The touch is comforting, solid in a way that pulls Lucas and his chaos of a head back down to safe ground. “If Eliott doesn’t love you back,” he says, “then he’s a fucking idiot.” Lucas chuckles wetly, doesn’t even know when his eyes even begun to well up. “But that aside,” Yann continues, “you have no idea how much courage that takes, and I don’t think I really understood either, which is why I got so mad at you the other day. But I keep thinking about if it was me, telling a friend of what, ten years? That I’m in love with them? It’s terrifying, I get that now. You’re fucking brave for deciding that’s what you want to do.”

“Twelve,” Lucas corrects in a whisper, another breathy laugh spilling past his lips when Yann rolls his eyes fondly. “And I think it’s what I needed, actually. You, yelling the sense into me. I am a bit stubborn if you haven’t noticed, I needed that push. I think.”

Yann looks at Lucas incredulously, “You? Stubborn?” he jokes. “Well I wouldn’t have believed it.”

Lucas flips him off, which only makes Yann laugh harder.

And, when he crosses the table to pull Lucas up into a hug, Lucas decides that he will, talk to Eliott. Maybe not right now, not this second. But he will. He makes that promise to himself and he files it away in a safe place cushioned by the warmth Yann’s arms ignite in his chest.

“For what it’s worth,” Yann whispers into Lucas’ shoulder, “I don’t think you could ever lose Eliott.”

There’s a soft guitar melody playing from the café speaker, but Lucas doesn’t notice it. A brand new melody now sings in his own head. The lyrics are the same, but this time they’re less clouded, and they glow, they’re hopeful. They are radiant.

He really hopes Yann is right.

  
  


*

The following evening Lucas goes to Eliott’s with the full intention of talking, he truly does.

But it’s just, Eliott had opened the door, his hair messy and t-shirt crumpled from his nap as he grinned softly, pulling Lucas into his room and kissing him senselessly into the bedsheets and, yeah, it’s just, he gets a little distracted, is all.

It’s as though the shadow of the other night still lingers, pulls them together with a force Lucas doesn’t want to meddle with.

Eliott sighs against Lucas’ lips and he says, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

It ignites a spark deep in Lucas’ chest. “Oh?” he whispers, humming when Eliott guides him by the waist into another deep kiss. The moment feels heated, if not a little desperate. Lucas licks into Eliott’s mouth when his lips allow enough leeway for it.

“Mhm,” Eliott’s voice is muffled as he speaks. “I want to try something.”

“Okay,” Lucas whispers, not even taking a second to mull it over. He trusts Eliott, see, there is no reason to hesitate.

Eliott shifts so that he now hovers over Lucas, continues kissing him until they’re both breathless with it, and Lucas kind of wishes he would just get a move on. He then kisses along Lucas’ jaw, follows the path down his neck until he runs out of skin and then he’s huffing unsatisfied and tugging at Lucas’ t-shirt until he gets the hint and peels it off.

“I want to try something,” Eliott says again, lips soft against Lucas’ stomach.

Lucas brushes away the hair that falls over Eliott’s eyes. “That’s okay,” he assures. “What is it?”

Kissing back up Lucas’ chest, stopping once he’s able to catch Lucas’ lips with his own again, Eliott murmurs, “I want to make you feel good.”

Lucas lets out a light breath, “You do,” he mumbles into the next kiss. “You do make me feel good.”

Eliott shakes his head, his pupils are completely blown out, earthy green-grey swallowed by thick black. His lips are swollen, as swollen as Lucas expects his own to be currently. “Yeah, but I want you to feel _ more, _” Eliott rephrases.

The atmosphere around them shifts, then, as though a knife to a flint, igniting a heady pressure deep in Lucas’ stomach that rises to his chest and down to his fingertips.

And, _ oh _. Yeah, okay.

After smirking at the way Lucas’ breath hitches at the insinuation, Eliott is quick to remove the remainder of their clothing. And spends the next few minutes (or hours, Lucas can’t really tell at this point, it’s all a haze) riling Lucas up until he’s digging his nails so sharply into the back of Eliott’s neck it’s sure to leave marks. He doesn’t, really, care all that much.

Then, kissing Lucas deep and slow, Eliott works him open with a somewhat messy but coordinated precision. And as he finally lines himself up, their breaths heavy and skin hot, Lucas can’t help but let out a laugh that slips softly into the small space between them at the way Eliott looks down at him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “are we really doing this?”

Eliott smooths a hand over Lucas’ hip. “Do you want to stop?” he asks. Because he is an angel, clearly. Lucas loves him so much.

“No,” Lucas pants out. “God, no.”

Eliott smirks, “Good,” he says, and he pushes in.

Lucas swears he blacks out for a few seconds, stars forming behind his eyelids and maybe even appear visible over his head like something out of a cartoon. And, this. This feels like something more, feels like a world where the word casual doesn’t even exist. Feels like love making. As Eliott begins to move his hips, first slowly and then working up more of a rhythm, as Lucas grips onto Eliott’s shoulder and throws his head back against the pillows. It feels like he’s dreaming.

It feels like every word they’re both aching to say pressed into each other’s skin until there is no part of Lucas that isn’t completely connected to Eliott.

“You’re so,” Eliott pants between sloppy kisses, “pretty, so pretty.”

Lucas whines into the soft skin of Eliott’s shoulder, which would be embarrassing if it weren’t for the way his stomach begins to coil and his thighs tremble from where they’re wrapped around Eliott’s waist. And then he’s thinking of something else entirely.

“Eliott,” Lucas warns.

Eliott kisses him harder, kisses him like it is endless, like it’s all he’ll ever do. Lucas lets him, because he thinks, hopes, that it is.

After, as they lie in the afterglow, together in Eliott’s bed between the crumpled sheets and under the light air that blows in through the open window, Eliott brushes a strand of hair away from Lucas’ face with a soft smile. Lucas blinks and sees little galaxies combust within the deep grey of Eliott’s eyes. Their green hue, Lucas thinks, always seems to appear more prominent when at par with the glisten of golden sunlight, but here, combined with the sombre evening air, the grey in them cuts through the darkness and blinks lazily back at Lucas like clouds drifting past a twilight moon.

And for the first time since he was stood in Eliott’s doorway, the memory of why Lucas came here in the first place floods back to him. It comes back with full force, urgent and intense. _ Talk to him, _ it says, this _ is it, say it, just say it. _

“I have to—”

Lucas’ eyes, they flutter shut, his body drops, feels a little like he’s floating within waves. They try to pull him away from consciousness, try to push his head under. He forces his eyes open again.

“—have to tell you something.”

Eliott’s voice, as it drifts along with the current, is hushed. “You’re tired, love,” it whispers, “we should sleep.”

Lucas tries to protest, despite how weak it may sound, he _ tries _ , he _ does _. “I need to—”

But Eliott hushes him again, brushing a hand along Lucas’ cheek and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Eliott says, “It’s okay,” and he repeats, “it’s okay.” Kissing Lucas’ forehead again, and with another kiss to his lips, Eliott says, “You’ll tell me in the morning?”

Not too sure if it’s a question or a statement, Lucas nods anyway. He thinks that’s okay, because Eliott is here, now, and he’ll be here in the morning, too, and Lucas can tell him then.

The battle against sleep lasts a fleeting ten seconds, after that, or maybe less. Because as soon as Eliott tucks Lucas under his chin, arms holding him close, it’s all over for him, really.

Waves seep into Lucas’ bones, sun-tinged, sweet and calm as though placated by a summer’s day. But this time, it’s okay, Lucas lets the sea consume him, deep and heavy.

And it is okay, because this time, he has Eliott right there with him.

*

Lucas is rudely awoken by the blaring of his phone’s alarm clock.

Blindly reaching out for the device on the nightstand, Lucas thinks to himself that there better be a really good fucking reason why this is happening to him at, what? He blinks his eyes open, hitting snooze and—

8:30am on a Saturday. _ Fuck. _

For some reason the fact that Lucas works every Saturday at 9am completely slipped his mind. He realises, with horror, that he has thirty minutes to get dressed and make it across town to open up, which, from Eliott’s apartment, is a little bit of a stretch.

Lucas swears under his breath, turning to find Eliott is still snoring softly next to him. And the memory of last night comes rushing back to Lucas all at once; hazy like a nebulous cloud, yet still just as vibrant as the glare of the sun. He melts, a little, at the slight pout of Eliott’s lips, the soft crease between his brows that settles into his skin even in sleep.

He contemplates, briefly, waking Eliott up and explaining the situation. He remembers, vividly, despite his exhaustion at the time, how Eliott had said, _ you’ll tell me in the morning. _It aches, deep and painful, that Lucas, physically, can’t right now.

He’s more ready than he’s ever been to tell Eliott how he feels but it’s now 8:34am and _ he’s going to be late for work. _

It can wait, Lucas reassures himself as he presses a faint kiss to Eliott’s forehead and scrambles to gather his clothes. Eliott will still be here when Lucas’ finishes work, and Lucas can tell him then. This is just a minor setback, _ it will be okay _, he tells himself as he slips out of the apartment and heads for the bus stop.

Eight hours, is all it is, nothing will change in eight hours.

_ It will be okay. _

*

Lucas endures eight hours of the worst shift of his entire life.

The whole time all he can think about is how he should have left Eliott with a note, or even sent him a damn text. But he had been in such a rush he hadn’t even _ thought. _ And now he’s standing at the counter, phone locked away in the back room because his boss has a strict no phones at work policy and all Lucas wants to do is talk to him. To call Eliott and tell him he’ll be home soon and they can talk but he _ can’t, _and it’s killing him.

By hour seven he is _ vibrating _ with the need to dart out of the coffee shop door and onto the next bus to Eliott’s. Even Daphné notices, making a joke about how his neck is going to snap off if he keeps twisting to look at the clock so much.

When five o’clock rolls around, Lucas wastes zero time in dashing to the back to retrieve his phone and is out of the door before his relief has barely even entered the threshold of the café. He has no texts or calls from Eliott, which is fine, Lucas sends him a message. _ I’m coming over _ , it says, _ we need to talk. _

The bus ride is hell, at the peak of rush hour and when Lucas is already losing his patience it feels like _ hours _go by until he finally steps onto the pavement and makes a beeline for Eliott’s place.

And, well, inevitably, that’s when things start to go downhill.

Lucas is rounding the final corner that leads him to the street of Eliott’s apartment block, and his strides are fast as he rushes along the path, and that’s when he sees him. Just as the building finally comes into view, and Lucas is just a mere few steps away from making it to the door, it swings open, and along with it out walks none other than Marco.

They both stop dead in their tracks, Marco stood in the doorway and Lucas on the pavement, all semblance of coherent words and thoughts knocked completely out of him.

Marco is the first to break the silence. “Oh, hey Lucas,” he smirks, stepping away from the door and letting it slam shut.

The inception of a storm simmers deep within Lucas’ core.

“Marco,” he acknowledges. “What are you doing here?”

Marco takes a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, flipping the top of and placing one carefully between his lips. “Just came to see Eliott, obviously,” he says, a lighter now in his hand, flicking until the cigarette lights. “And you?” Lucas sneaks a glance up towards the building, up to the window in which he knows Eliott’s bedroom looks out from. And then, at Lucas’ delayed response, Marco laughs around a puff of smoke, “Oh you thought—” he gestures towards the building with his cigarette, “You thought you _ actually _ had a chance with Eliott, did you?”

His voice, when he says it, is all parts condescending. And Lucas hates how small it makes him feel, how the sudden urge to puff out his chest and square his shoulders overcomes him.

The storm, as it is, begins to multiply within Lucas’ veins, seething as it works its way through his body.

“What are you talking about?” Lucas asks, a little taken aback.

Scoffing, Marco takes a step closer. “It will always be me for Eliott, don’t you understand that? He’ll always come back to me, because we get each other.” He smirks, conceited and cold. “It’s over for you, Lucas. I knew it would never last between you two, anyways.”

At the look of bewilderment on Lucas’ face, Marco chuckles cynically, “Oh, he didn’t tell you?”

Lucas swallows the sudden lump that claws at his throat. “What?” he breathes, hates how small his voice sounds, too. Hates how he feels the storm ricochet, its claws violent as they scratch at his skin, harsh like knives.

“We’re giving it another go. Eliott and I.”

Lucas shakes his head, “No that’s not—” _ that’s not possible. _ Last night was—Lucas _ felt it _ , he swears he did. The way Eliott had held him, the way he had said, _ it’s okay, tell me in the morning _ like he _ knew. _

Like he felt it too.

_ You’re lying, _ Lucas thinks, _ that can’t be true. _

Marco hums around his cigarette.

“Well that’s a shame,” he shrugs, easy and aloof as though he isn’t completely tearing Lucas’ entire world apart. “I guess you weren’t as important to him as you thought you were.”

Inside of Lucas’ chest, his heart plummets, it sinks so far down into his stomach it feels like every last breath of air has been knocked out of him. And it’s strange, standing here, hearing the exact words he has always been so petrified to hear, how they’re able to shatter every last bit of hope he had been harbouring within the blink of an eye. The words, as they get twisted up into the storm, swallowed by the harsh winds and violent gales, they hurt, deep and cruel.

And it hits Lucas, then, fierce and terrifying like the storm that lives inside of him, _ had Eliott knowingly stopped Lucas from telling him last night because he knew this was going to happen? Because he had planned to get back with Marco today all along? Is that why—is that— _

Lucas’ chest heaves. He had thought—_ he thought _ . _ God _ , he’s so stupid, such an _ idiot, so naïve. _

How could he let this happen? How could he allow himself to become so blindsided by his own feelings?

Stomping his cigarette out on the wall next to him, Marco says, “I knew you were just a fling for him, something he needed to get out of his system until he realised what he actually wanted, what he needed.” Lucas blinks at it, watches the ashy stain it leaves against the white stone, feels it as though it has been smouldered into his heart and not the wall that brackets the stairs to Eliott’s apartment building.

He takes another look at Marco, how he stands there, evil smirk on his face. He stands there with the entire world in his hands and he doesn’t even know it. If Lucas pities him for one thing, it’s that. That he, somehow, has someone as phenomenal as Eliott in his life yet he has no idea how to appreciate it.

Lucas takes one last look at him, swallows down all of the words he doesn’t have, the words Marco doesn’t deserve to pull from him, and he twists on his heel and doesn’t look back.

It isn’t until he’s a safe three streets away that Lucas breaks down into tears, doesn’t even care that he’s in public, that every work commuter heading home sees him sobbing with his head hanging low against his chest as goes, in the cold, his heart dragging behind him. Lucas thinks at one point it stops shadowing his steps, falls down a drain and leaves him all on his own with a storm engraved into his bones; a hollow chest, a scar where his heart once sat.

He has never felt like this before, empty, a bit like a void, yet vibrating with an anger that could shatter glass instantly all at once. The feeling, foreign and terrifying, it propels Lucas down the bustling streets of Paris and it hurts.

It hurts more than anything has ever hurt before.

*

Yann takes one look at Lucas standing in the doorway of the living room with tear tracks stained on his cheeks and blotches of red on his face and he drops his Xbox controller, abandoning whatever game he’s playing with Arthur, and he pulls Lucas into his arms.

“What is it?” he asks, voice panicked. “What happened?”

“It’s over,” Lucas sobs into Yann’s hoodie, fists clenching desperately into the worn material.

Pulling away, Yann frowns. “What do you mean?”

Arthur and Basile are now standing to observe the commotion, concerned looks on their faces.

Lucas chokes on another sob.

“Eliott and me.” It hurts to think it, but what really twists the knife, what really hurts unlike anything Lucas has ever felt before, is having to say it. “He got back together with Marco.”

Yann pulls Lucas back into his chest, stands there with him as he sobs until he has nothing left. And then he walks Lucas to the sofa, Arthur wraps him in several blankets while Basile orders pizza and puts on a movie. Lucas isn’t able to do much other than stare into a blank space and occasionally let out weak whimpers that cause each boy to either send him a worried look or squeeze his arm reassuringly. They don’t ask him any more questions. Lucas is glad. His heart, and his head, they both hurt too much to have to say anything at all.

Lucas, that night, doesn’t sleep. He can’t understand how he managed to get things so inconceivably wrong.

He lies with his face pressed into his pillow to suppress his sobs and he lets his phone sit abandoned in his jacket pocket on his bedroom floor until it dies.

And, along with it, the spark in Lucas’ chest dies, too.

*

In the days that follow, Lucas doesn’t receive any texts from Eliott.

There is a small part of Lucas that wishes Eliott would have said something. It’s not like he owes Lucas an explanation, because getting back together with Marco had been the plan all along, but, something would have been nice, a little heads up maybe, to save the embarrassment of bumping into Marco, completely clueless as to what was going on. But, at the same time he’s glad of the space, he doesn’t think he could stand in front of Eliott right now, when the wounds on his heart are still so raw, cuts still so deep, and not spill out his feelings just for the knife to be twisted even more.

Somehow word has found its way around, and Lucas hasn’t left the flat since he arrived home that afternoon, so he’s guessing one of the boys told one of the girls and it had stemmed from there. And nobody has explicitly said it, but they definitely have some kind of plan set up so that somebody is with him at all times. Lucas appreciates the concern, really, he does, and the company, but it doesn’t stop him from thinking that it all feels just a little pathetic.

Like they think he’s somehow a liability to himself just because he got dumped and needs to be babysat twenty-four-seven. It’s not like he can correct them, tell them he’s fine and that he didn’t get dumped because he never actually had a boyfriend to begin with.

It is, honestly, the most pathetic he has ever felt in his life.

Imane had come over the first day with warm homemade food, courtesy of mama Bakhellal, which they had eaten at the kitchen table over a game of double solitaire. The following day Daphné and Elena had tried to take him out for lunch, but Lucas was too sad, and his blanket burrito had been far too warm to leave, so they had climbed into his bed with him and put on a movie instead. Basile has also made it his mission to poke his head into Lucas’ room every hour to ask him if he needs anything, which, it’s cute, but it’s also a lot and all Lucas wants to do is curl up into a ball under his bedsheets and never leave.

In the breaks between his daytime naps, Lucas will wake to refilled glasses of water and loose snacks on his nightstand courtesy of Arthur and Yann, sometimes even bowls of pasta or slices of toast. Lucas eats what he can but it never ends up being more than a few mouthfuls.

He’s with Emma and Alexia, now, each girl with one of his hands on their laps as they paint his nails with two different colours.

“Are you sure pink and red are a good combination?” he mumbles weakly, his voice so hoarse it makes his cheeks heat slightly.

Alexia, as she grips his wrist in a firm hold because he had been squirming too much, frowns. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

Lucas shrugs, “Well it’s a bit clashy, no?”

Emma swears under her breath, “Fuck, Lucas. You have to stay _ still _.” She licks her thumb, using it to swipe away the smudge of red on his skin. Lucas scrunches his nose.

Shaking her head, Alexia tells him it will look _ sublime _ . Lucas bites his lip and lets them get on with it. He tries not to think about how the last time he had let Emma paint his nails, Eliott had been right there beside him with a massive grin on his face as he had said the exact same thing. _ Sublime, Lucas, _ he had insisted, _ very pretty, it suits you. _

Everyone tells him that he shouldn’t think about it, but Lucas ends up thinking about Eliott more in the space of a few days than he ever has in his entire life anyway.

And despite his friends’ efforts, it still feels like a piece of Lucas’ heart sheds from his chest with every day that goes by, as though a tree casting off its leaves for fall; boughs left cold and bare. Naked. Brightness of green rinsed lifeless, colourless. A little like his world has drained itself of all life now that Eliott has been ripped from his grasp, and it stings, knowing how his grip was just beginning to strengthen, how he should have just held on a little bit tighter.

Yann approaches Lucas later that day while he’s in the kitchen fixing himself a sandwich, thinking about how the way his lettuce wilts at the edges is only representative of the way his heart is slowly wilting at its seams, too.

He hates that this is what his level of misery has attained to—comparing the sinking in his chest to the decomposition of his salad. It’s tragic, really.

“Nice nails,” he compliments, and then, “How are you?” His voice startles Lucas slightly. “Or is that a stupid question?”

Lucas turns slowly, leaning backwards against the counter to face Yann. He sighs, thinks about the past few days, how he’s practically been living on autopilot while his thoughts steal away all of his energy, how every small movement feels like a marathon, how every single tiny little thing in his room and in this damn apartment somehow reminds him of Eliott.

“I don’t know,” Lucas deflates.

He’s been saying that everything is fine for so long that he’s forgotten almost how to admit when it’s not. Like now, how his heart feels like it’s being stabbed every time he breathes, how the sinking feeling in his stomach weighs him down so far he can’t bring himself to leave his bed for most of the day.

Yann looks at Lucas with worried eyes, the concern in them is palpable, wide and dark. Lucas’ breath shudders, his teeth clenching into his bottom lip to catch them before they tremble. “I’m not,” Lucas shakes his head, his voice wavering despite his efforts at concealing it. “I’m not okay, Yann.”

Taking two strides forwards, Yann pulls Lucas into his arms.

And it feels like. It feels like Lucas has spent so long trying to soften the blow of the potential heartbreak, trying to lay out his protection so that if he fell something would catch him. Thing is, Lucas had been so fixated on the _ what if _ , that he hadn’t been paying enough attention to the _ now _, not until it was far too late, anyway. And it didn’t even matter, in the end, did it? Because here he is, having wasted all that time trying to protect his own heart, and yet, it’s even more damaged than ever before. His defense will always be flawed when it comes to Eliott, you see, with feelings that are so delicate and yet so simultaneously treacherous as Lucas’ feelings for Eliott are, there was never going to be a pathway that didn’t end in him having his heart broken—whether it was Eliott that broke the news or not.

It was destined to end that way.

And this is where that has left him. He isn’t okay, he doesn’t think he’ll be okay for a long time. He doesn’t know what to do without Eliott by his side, and he _ misses him, god, _ Lucas misses him so much it physically hurts. Perhaps he’s being a little dramatic, because it’s not like he and Eliott can’t still be friends. Lucas could go over there and act like nothing happened and that his heart isn’t hanging so low in his chest and everything could go back to the way it used to be, but, you see, he _ can’t _. Lucas can’t pretend anymore. He can’t look into Eliott’s eyes and hope for the world but see nothing in return.

“I really thought he loved me back, Yann. I thought—”

A sob escapes past Lucas’ lips and settles into the material of Yann’s black t-shirt. He steps away from Lucas, holding him by the shoulders at arm’s length.

“What happened, Lucas? I don’t understand, you left the other day saying you were going to talk to him and you didn’t come back all night. I thought things had gone well.” Yann is ducking down slightly to try and meet Lucas’ eyes, but Lucas is so fixated on the floor that it doesn’t really make much of a difference.

“I was,” Lucas says, his voice unsteady, “I was going to, that night, but some things got in the way and I _ said _ —I told Eliott I had to tell him something and he told me that I should tell him in the morning. I had to leave for work, but I was going to come back and tell him after, I was literally _ so close _to telling him, Yann, I swear, but then I find out he’s gotten back with Marco and he didn’t even have the fucking guts to tell me. I just—”

Lucas lets out a frustrated sigh. He hates, with everything in him, that Eliott felt like he couldn’t tell him, like maybe he knew it would break Lucas’ heart, like he didn’t want _ poor, sad, pathetic Lucas who falls in love with people who could never love him back _, to feel bad about it.

Clearly, not one of Eliott’s finest moments. Lucas got hurt in the end, anyway.

“How did you find out?” Yann asks.

Running his hands over his face, Lucas says, “Marco told me, I bumped into him on the way back to Eliott’s. He had just been inside.”

Yann frowns, “Have you spoken to Eliott since?”

“No,” Lucas shakes his head, “I can’t, Yann. And he hasn’t even tried to contact me.”

For a second, it looks as though Yann is contemplating something. Something that Lucas can’t quite figure out. He wants to ask what Yann is thinking, but the other boy is speaking again before Lucas has the chance.

“What a fucking asshole,” he spits.

Lucas sighs. “Don’t. Don’t get mad.”

“Lucas.” Yann looks dead into his eyes, it would feel intimidating, if it were anyone else, the way the black of his eyes burn a deep hole into the lightness of Lucas’ own. But Lucas also knows Yann; knows he bakes when he’s stressed and also when he’s happy, knows he paid for Basile’s McDonald’s meal last week because he was short on cash, knows he took extra notes in Chemistry class during high school for two entire weeks while Arthur was off with the flu. Yann is sunlight; warm and forgiving even on the coldest of days.

“Eliott asked you to pretend to be his boyfriend, strung you around for almost two months, took you on dates, hooked-up with you, kissed you and made you feel like it was more than it was only to drop you again without any explanations.” It’s painfully honest, cuts deep into Lucas’ heart in a way that invokes a new kind of pain. But, at the same time, Lucas thinks it’s maybe what he needs to hear. The truth, laid out bare and honest in its rawest form. “Of course I’m mad, Lucas. He’s broken your heart. Look at you, I can’t even watch you walk to the bathroom without wanting to fucking break into tears _ for _ you. I have never seen you this upset about anything _ ever _.”

The thing is, no matter how fucked up this is, no matter how many people tell him what Eliott did was shitty and that it’s okay for Lucas to get mad, he knows, he won’t. How could he? When this was never what Eliott asked for.

Eliott asked for pretend. Eliott agreed to casual. Lucas is the one who fucked everything up with his unruly heart.

Lucas wants to tell Yann he’ll be okay, not to worry. But he knows that isn’t true, so he doesn’t. He thinks about explaining to Yann that it’s not fair to be mad at Eliott because this isn’t what Eliott asked for, but he swallows those words down, too.

Instead, he shrugs, his smile weak and his chest straining against his ribs, and he says, “Eliott was never meant to be mine in the first place, I just have to learn to live with that.”

Yann doesn’t argue with it, only pulls Lucas into another hug.

*

It’s a Thursday when Lucas sees Eliott for the first time since everything fell apart.

(It’s also the first time Lucas has left his flat in five days, so clearly that was a mistake. He’s beginning to think he should have just stayed in bed, but Yann said he was beginning to look, smell and sound like a hermit, that he was going to lose his mind if he didn’t get some fresh air anytime soon. Plus, he kind of can’t really afford to skip any more lectures.)

Lucas sees Eliott, and his entire body seizes up even though everything in him is screaming at him to run.

He’s leaving the arts building on campus, laughing as he walks alongside some of his course friends. Lucas recognises them from a while ago, Camille and Elias, he thinks. He laughs with them as though everything is fine, and Lucas feels like that’s extremely unfair: how Eliott’s life continues to surge on while Lucas’ has become completely motionless.

By the time Lucas’ legs get the hint, it’s too late. Eliott’s eyes meet his from across the courtyard, and time stops completely.

Lucas watches Eliott observe him carefully, a little stunned. But then he excuses himself from his friends and ducks away to head in Lucas’ direction. He’s two feet away before Lucas can all but blink.

“Hey,” Eliott breathes, now standing in front of Lucas a little awkwardly. It almost feels as though he doesn’t belong, here, in Lucas’ presence, at least not like this; with his shoulders hunched and his eyes unable to lift themselves off the pavement below them.

Lucas clears his throat, says, “Hi,” and shoves his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie to mask their trembling. He prays Eliott can’t hear how loudly his heart is beating. “How are you?”

Eliott swallows, nodding slightly as he flicks his gaze up to look at Lucas under his eyelashes. Lucas, no matter how hard he tries, can’t quite figure out that look.

“Okay,” Eliott murmurs, “I mean,” a sigh, “I’m sorry,” he says running a hand along his forehead. “About, uh, about everything.”

It’s—Lucas wasn’t expecting Eliott to come out with it so soon into the conversation, had half expected him to at least suffer through the stiff pleasantries. Lucas swallows down the hurt that stems from the fact that Eliott doesn’t even ask how he is doing.

“Why are you sorry?” Lucas asks, thinks, _ it’s not like you asked for me to fall in love with you. _ “It’s why we did what we did in the first place, was it not? So that you could get back with him.”

Something flashes across Eliott’s face, then, as he looks away, his lips pressed into a thin line. He’s quiet for a while, studies Lucas’ face carefully. When he does speak, it’s briefly, “I—you,” another sigh, “Yeah, I guess.”

Lucas’ smile, it’s contrived. It feels wrong, unnatural. But he can’t let Eliott know that, know how he truly feels. He needs to deflect. Deflect until the feelings go away, until he doesn’t feel the ache in his chest anymore, how it burns like gasoline awaiting to combust at any given moment.

“I’m happy for you then.” He hates how the words sound coming from his mouth, they sit on his tongue like oil to water.

“Yeah,” Eliott says again, looking to the ground where his trainers scuff against the pavement like he doesn’t know any other words. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His smile maybe looks just as strained, Lucas tells himself it’s the awkwardness. Because they had stupidly let this go on way too long, and things are incontrovertibly different now, the wedge they’ve created between the lines of friendship and more feel irreversible, almost. The damage has been done. Lucas doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to go back to the way things used to be. Not now that he knows how the shift of Eliott’s muscles feels under the curious brush of his fingertips, how he kisses lazily in the morning and intensely by night, how he hums when Lucas buries himself into his chest; lips parted against the soft skin of his neck, heartbeat gentle under the pressure of his palm. Lucas isn’t, he isn’t thinking about it, _ he isn’t _.

And Eliott doesn’t want that, Eliott wants Marco, he’s made that indisputably clear.

So. Lucas shuts his mouth and he smiles, he says, “I’ll be late for class,” gesturing flippantly with his hand, slowly backing away. Eliott doesn’t try to stop him, just nods, slightly.

And Lucas, he buries his feelings for the millionth time, and, yet again, lets Eliott slip between his fingertips.

*

Lucas, in the days that follow, tries.

He tries to get on with his life and think about Eliott as little as possible. He goes to his classes, he cooks dinner for the guys, he studies for his upcoming exams, he talks with his mother on the phone and he facetimes Manon.

And he tries, he tries to move on.

Lucas hadn’t, when Basile suggested it, really thought too much into it.

They’re in the living room one night, the usual setup of video games and cheap beer, when he says it. It’s casual, thrown into conversation between a rant on the lack of snacks in the kitchen and a joke about his own terrible coordination in the game.

Casual, an easy suggestion formed from little thought.

“You should get with someone, like, maybe not to hook-up, but like, go on a date. Take your mind off Eliott.” He had then added, rather suggestively with a quirk of his eyebrows, “Or, you know, just to hook-up. Whatever you want.”

Lucas had sat there, beer in his hand, label peeling off under the nervous toying of his fingers and he had thought, _ yeah, okay, fuck it, why not. _

“There is this guy,” he had mumbled, “in my class. He asked me on a date a while ago. I said no because of Eliott.”

Basile had looked absolutely thrilled with this information. “Well, great!” he had cheered. “There you go! Sorted.”

Lucas had thought, then, a bit stubbornly, if Eliott gets to move on, then, why can’t he?

And so, that’s how Lucas ends up here. Here, standing outside a bar with his jacket pulled tightly around his chest to block out the cold, head ducked to the ground to avoid the eyes of any passing strangers, as he waits for Julien to arrive and take him inside.

He isn’t late, Lucas had been early. And it isn’t his fault Lucas feels so wrong being here, his heart is still stuck somewhere else. But he’s trying, he is.

When Julien arrives, he smiles at Lucas and pulls him into a sideways hug. He guides them both inside, chats about his day and then asks Lucas questions about his as he orders them a drink, and it feels, odd, in a way. Lucas can’t exactly pinpoint the strange feeling that sits heavy within his gut, it’s a peculiar feeling, one that makes Lucas’ skin feel like it isn’t his own.

“You know, I’m glad you changed your mind about us,” Julien is saying, taking a small sip of his beer. “About the date. I was beginning to think you hated me, or something, when you never replied to my text.”

Lucas’ eyes shift from where Julien’s hand grips the neck of his bottle and over to the vibrant neon pink sign that sits overhead the bar. _ Drink, drank, drunk _, it reads, a neon flamingo on each end of the words. It’s loud, weirdly placed in a bar that’s all dull interior and brown seats.

“Sorry, about that,” Lucas flicks his gaze away and back to Julien, “my head was kind of all over the place.”

Humming, Julien leans a little closer, and the table they’re at is small, he had already been close, but now he’s close in a way that causes the scent of his thick cologne to be all that Lucas can smell, the slight bitterness of the beer in his breath as he speaks, the warmth of his hand as it squeezes Lucas’ arm. “It’s found its way now, though?”

Lucas blinks.

“Your head,” Julien prompts.

Oh. “Uh, I—” Lucas looks back to the sign, thinks it looks ridiculous, wishes he could skip the _ drink _ and the _ drank _ and fast forward to the _ drunk _ —anything to numb away the painful screams that try to tell him this isn’t what he truly wants. Lucas forces the thoughts away, because he’s trying to move on and he _ wants _ to try.

Trying is all he feels like he has left, at this point.

“I think so, maybe.”

Julien smiles at this. He’s handsome, attractive in a way that’s hard to miss. But Lucas still looks into his deep blue eyes, watches how the neon pink of the lights above illuminate his tanned skin in a soft pretty glow, and he feels nothing.

“I had a really great time tonight,” Julien says, later, as they’re standing outside Lucas’ apartment block, lingering on the pavement. “Thank you for allowing me to take you out.”

Lucas’ stomach twists, “It’s okay.”

Julien nods, looks away a little awkwardly, and then back, and he shifts forwards slightly, scarily close, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Uh,” Lucas clears his throat, backs away like he hadn’t caught on to Julien’s intentions. “Goodnight, then,” he mumbles, hands fisting around his keys.

Something flashes across Julien’s face, Lucas isn’t sure what. Hurt, annoyance, confusion, curiosity. He doesn’t stay long enough to try and figure it out, just turns and unlocks the door, vaguely registering Julien mumbling a quiet, “See you,” before he’s pushing himself into the building and up the stairs.

When Lucas steps into the apartment, he heads straight for the bathroom, turning the shower on and cranking the heat up to full blast. He stands there, under the gush of water, for what feels like hours, letting the scorching droplets soothe the itch that settles at the surface of his skin.

He shuts his eyes against the steam that surrounds him and he sees Julien’s face, kind and excited as he spoke about his little siblings, how he had said, _ I think my parents would love you _ . Lucas shuts his eyes and he sees Eliott’s face, soft and warm as he had said, _ you’ll tell me in the morning. _ But then again, but sterner this time, distant as he said, _ I’m sorry about everything _.

Even after, when Lucas settles into bed, plugging his headphones in and setting the volume to full blast, the images and the voices, they don’t go away. Even in sleep he can’t escape. Lucas dreams of moments of tenderness that, only in the farthest, delusive depths of his own mind, don’t end in heartache.

It’s really quite devastating, actually, when the realisation settles in. The realisation that there is nothing and nobody that could ever possibly make Lucas feel the way Eliott makes him feel.

*

“Lucas, can you watch the register while I take my break?” Lucas’ coworker, Amelie, asks from behind the counter. Lucas nods, finishing wiping down the last of the free tables and making his way over to let Amelie away.

“I won’t be long,” she says, untying her apron. “If it gets busy, call me.”

Smiling, Lucas tells her to go, that he’ll be fine. The busy lunch time spike has long died down by now, anyway, with every caffeine hungry student now withdrawn back into their little study caves and far too caught up within upcoming deadlines to venture out to annoy Lucas with requests for drinks that are far too complicated and contain amounts of sugar that are sure to kill.

Lucas busies himself with wiping down the counter surface and refilling some of the cake stands while Amelie is gone. It’s a stark polarity from the last time Lucas had been here, on a Saturday, awaiting five o’clock, not because he had been aching to just get home and bury himself back into his bed, but because then he had been aching to get to Eliott—to tell him everything. He had been so sure, not so long ago.

It’s funny how quickly things can change.

(How they can be ripped from your grasp at the very last moment, how in the seconds leading up to that point, you feel on top of the world. How the minutes that follow feel like the countdown to the ending of time.)

Things have been strange after Lucas’ date with Julien. He doesn’t, really, know where he stands with things. He knows the date had been good, but he also knows the entire time he had been thinking about Eliott. _ Eliott would have ordered some peculiar looking cocktail instead of a beer, he would have met Lucas outside his apartment and they would have walked to the bar together instead of meeting outside, he would have forced Lucas to stand in front of that hideous neon sign so that he could take a photo. _

But other than that, the memory of that night sits heavy in Lucas’ gut in a way that’s difficult to ignore. The messages he gets from Julien are hard to ignore, too. And Lucas feels bad, he does, that every single one goes unanswered. He also can’t help the way his heart sinks when he hears his phone go off and it isn’t Eliott’s name flashing across the screen.

Lucas hates that his thoughts have become so consumed by him. More than they ever have before.

The door to the coffee shop chimes, signaling the arrival of another customer and pulling Lucas out of his reverie. Lucas glances over his shoulder with a smile, ready to greet whoever it is with his usual feigned happy customer service energy, but his lips falter when his eyes settle on who has just entered.

Marco walks into Lucas’ workplace with preservation, shoulders held high as though this is his kingdom and Lucas is merely a dismissive mortal. Something unworthy to be looked down upon. Lucas thinks, as Marco stops on the other side of the counter and Lucas turns to face him, that it must take a great deal of self-resentment to stoop to such lows. Lucas looks at Marco and he sees a man who is probably so insecure about what his values hold and of the way he feels inside that he must turn to ways that are propelled by malice and pain towards others just to make himself feel better. That he has no objections to making others feel small for the sole purpose of making himself feel bigger.

It’s unsettling, to Lucas, how somebody who radiates so much hatred can fall into the same circle as someone like Eliott; someone who loves so deeply it seeps out of his pours.

He asks himself why the fuck this has to keep happening to him.

“What can I get for you?” Lucas asks, his tone bored. But he won’t bite, god knows what strings Marco could pull to have him fired for simply breathing the wrong way. _ Just make the damn drink and he’ll be out of your hair _, Lucas tells himself.

Marco studies Lucas amusedly, a slight quirk to his lips as he props his hip against the counter. “I’m just here to get a tea,” he says, and then, “for Eliott,” he adds, as though it’s necessary. “He’s not feeling too good.”

All previous annoyance Lucas had felt is replaced with a sudden panic. His heart leaps at the comment, wants to ask, _ what do you mean? Is he sick? Or is it his mood? Does he need anything? How can I help? _ And, angrily, Lucas looks at Marco and thinks, _ since when did you fucking care? _ Then, as Marco orders a green tea, _ Eliott only likes mint _.

The whole thing, from the smug look on Marco’s face to the way he says he’s been at his place all morning and, _yeah it’s just not good_ _it’s maybe the worst I’ve seen him,_ feels very targeted, very, _I always come out on top and I want you to know that._

Lucas is so fucking over it and he’s over caring so much.

(He tries to convince himself of that, only the ache in his chest at the thought of Eliott feeling down right now and Lucas can’t do anything but make him a tea he knows will go untouched is literally torture.)

He slides the takeaway cup of green tea over the counter, says, “One-eighty,” and bites his tongue so hard when Marco hands over a twenty that it’s sure to draw blood.

Later, when Amelie arrives back from her break, Lucas is so riled up and worried she has to place a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Lucas hadn’t even heard her speaking to him.

“Hey,” she says, tone concerned, “Lucas, are you alright?”

Lucas exhales sharply. “Yeah,” he breathes, and then running an exasperated hand over his forehead, “Actually, I—uh. I think I’m not feeling too well.”

“Oh!” Amelie frowns, “Oh goodness. Do you need to head home? It isn’t too busy I’m sure I could manage on my—”

“No,” Lucas interrupts, then sighing, softer, he says, “Sorry, I mean. I’m fine. I’ll just take my break, if that’s okay. Get some air.”

Amelie nods, “Of course, yeah. If you’re still feeling unwell when you get back, though, then don’t feel like you have to stay.”

Smiling sincerely, Lucas thanks her. Even though she has an outwardly tough looking aroma; her hair a sleek black and her face pierced with so much metal it makes Lucas’ skin crawl, she’s so careful and considerate in her nature it’s refreshing, calming. No matter how much Lucas tells himself he shouldn’t stereotype it like that, to assume she would be the moody type who grunts more than speaks, he can’t help but find it a little hilarious the way she tells him to call if he feels faint and to make sure he wraps up warm because it’s cold out.

Before Lucas leaves, he fixes up a large cup of mint tea, hesitating with a sharpie before scribbling messily onto the cup with shaky handwriting. He has thirty minutes until he has to return to work, which, he decides, leaves him just enough time to stop at Eliott’s for a few minutes and then get back.

Holding the cup protectively in his hands in an attempt to preserve its heat, Lucas pushes through the wind that cuts into his skin with his head down and his heart in his throat.

He prays, as he arrives at Eliott’s apartment building, waiting a few moments until a girl comes up behind him to let herself in, and as he stealthy slips in after her, that Marco has since left. It’s that kind of confrontation that Lucas does not have the time nor the energy for right now.

Knocking his fist against the wood of the door, with his stomach twisting in anticipation, Lucas runs his thumb along the edge of the takeaway cup in his hands, thinks that this maybe isn’t a very smart idea with how intense the scar in his chest still aches.

The door swings open before Lucas can change his mind, and Sofiane stands there, a duster in his hand as though he’s just been cleaning and he looks at Lucas like he’s stunned.

“Oh, Lucas, hey,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

Lucas swallows down his nerves, in a weird twisted way, it feels a lot like the last time Lucas showed up here: unannounced with no plan. Only, this time—this time Lucas doesn’t have the comfort of knowing there is a pair of arms inside waiting for him to fall into. Those arms, as much as they once felt like they belonged to him, they don’t now, maybe never even did in the first place.

“Is Eliott home?” Lucas asks.

Sofiane scratches the back of his neck with a frown, “He—Eliott’s—” he sighs, “maybe now isn’t a very good time, Lucas.”

Lucas’ head falls, eyes downcast to the floor. “Is he okay?” He just needs to know, needs _ something, anything. _

“Not really,” Sofiane responds. It’s painfully honest, but probably exactly what is needed to be said. There is no hiding behind it—the way Eliott’s mood can fluctuate, the harsh reality that he may not leave his bed for days now. “Hey,” Sofiane whispers, it gets Lucas to look up, “I’m here. Idriss, too, we’re looking out for him, he’ll be okay.” _ He doesn’t want to see you right now _, goes unsaid, Lucas tries not to let it sting too much.

Lucas smiles, it’s small, a little half-hearted but it’s there and grateful nonetheless. Lucas is, and always will be, thankful for the way Idriss and Sofiane look out for Eliott the way they do.

“Thank you,” Lucas murmurs, his voice scratchy with worry. Sofiane smiles back, nods like he’s expecting Lucas to leave, but Lucas remembers one last thing. “Can you—” he holds out the tea, “could you maybe give this to him, please?”

“Yeah,” Sofiane says, “yeah, of course.”

He takes the cup, Lucas thanks him again, and with one last smile he turns and he leaves, feet heavy as he descends down the stairs.

The sky, when Lucas leaves Eliott’s apartment building that evening, is white and sombre. He thinks that’s only fitting, how the earth shatters in the absence of its sun.

*

Despite the minor setback, Lucas continues to try.

And when Yann suggests they throw a small get-together he actually feels excitement curl in his chest at the thought of being able to let go of everything and enjoy himself for just one night.

It’s a small gathering, with just Lucas himself, Yann, Basile and Arthur, along with Emma, Alexia, Daphné and Imane. A few drinks, some extremely questionable music choices and a lot of laughter that helps to ease the stress in Lucas’ head and the ache in his chest.

It’s refreshing, easy like how things used to be before he fucked everything up.

Lucas is sitting on the kitchen counter, heels kicking at the cabinets, beer warming his bones, laughing at how Basile absolutely butchers his impression of Shakira and he feels lighter. He lets all thoughts of Eliott slip from his mind and he lets himself enjoy the moment, and it’s really fucking nice, actually. It’s nice to allow himself to exist here only, surrounded by his friends and laughter and horrible singing and it’s good.

Lucas laughs and says, “You should hear him when he sings in the shower, it’s so much worse.”

To which Basile smirks and says, in a suggestive tone, “You’re listening to me singing in the shower, are you, Lulu?” He steps over to Lucas in a joking attempt to press a clumsy wet kiss to his cheek. Lucas shoves him off, a feigned face of disgust on his face and he laughs, and it feels so easy.

Things are never as they seem, however.

Lucas is returning to the living room for another round of cards against humanity when Daphné corners him in the doorway.

“I’ve been meaning to talk with you,” she says, “I just wanted to see how you were doing, after, you know.”

She tapers off, as though saying it is some kind of taboo, a whispered secret.

“I’m okay, Daphy, really,” Lucas insists, stepping to the side to hint that he really just wants to get back to the game.

Daphné nods curtly, but doesn’t necessarily catch on. “Are you sure?” she rests a hand over his arm, “Because what Eliott did was really shitty, I can’t believe he did that.”

Lucas, really, loves daphné. He does. But right now, this is not what he needs. He pushes away the irritation that itches at his skin at her words and forces a polite smile onto his face.

“Thank you, Daphné, but I don’t really feel like talking about it right now.”

She frowns at this, “But talking helps, Lucas. If you don’t talk about it, it’ll only just eat away at you.”

He’s aware that, despite the music that plays idly from the speaker, everyone in the living room is listening into what they’re saying. He can tell by the way all of their conversations seem to fade to silence.

“Yeah, I know, okay? Just not right now.”

With a sigh, Daphné squeezes his arm. “I understand,” she sends him a sad smile. “I just can’t imagine what it must feel like, being dropped out nowhere like that for somebody else.”

It’s the final straw, really. To be honest, Lucas is tired of it—of everyone feeling sorry for him when this is all his fault in the first place. He’s sick of the pitying looks, of the constant monitoring and the subtle digs at Eliott and it’s all so unfair, because the truth behind it all is that Eliott has done nothing wrong. Eliott, who is feeling low right now and _ Lucas _ is the one unable to be there for him because he let things get out of hand. Eliott, who is literal sunshine, who would never knowingly hurt Lucas.

Lucas has done this to himself for falling in love with someone who could never love him back. For lying. For lying and lying and lying until he has no idea where one lie begins and another ends, until the truth has become so enshrouded he doesn’t even know who he _ is _anymore.

“Eliott didn’t _ do anything _,” he snaps.

Daphné frowns. It was admittedly a little harsh, but Lucas looks at the stunned faces of his friends still listening in on their conversation and the look of pity in their eyes and he can’t take it any longer.

“We were never together, _ okay _.”

Everyone seems to still, shock evident on their faces._ They’re going to hate you after this _ , his head screams at him _ . _ Lucas ignores it and, when Daphné asks, _ what are you talking about, _ he keeps going.

“We pretended to date to make Marco jealous and want Eliott back. And it worked, and they’re happy now, so I don’t know why you’re all acting like I need to be babied, because I’m fine,” he insists, “I am.”

“But Lucas,” Imane speaks gently from the living room, “you don’t seem fine, it’s okay if—”

“I’m fucking fine!” Lucas interjects. “I’m sick of you all tiptoeing around me when all I’ve done is lie to you all.”

“Lucas,” Yann warns.

Lucas shakes his head, “Don’t, please,” he pleads, “I don’t need you all feeling sorry for me.”

_ I’d rather you hate me for lying than to pity me for something that was entirely my own doing. _

He takes a step away from the room, nobody else speaks, he’s left it awkward, uncomfortable, he knows he has.

“I’m—” a sigh, “I’m tired,” he announces, “I’m going to bed.”

“Lucas,” he vaguely hears someone call from the living room as he walks down the hallway, Yann, maybe, or Basile, he doesn’t know. But he’s pushing himself into his room and locking the door before anyone can try and stop him.

Sinking into the wood of the door, Lucas lets out a shuddering breath.

He thinks of Eliott, what he’s doing right now—how he’s doing. Lucas hopes, as he climbs into bed, that he’s eaten today, that he’s taken his meds, that someone has said something that made him smile.

Lucas hopes he doesn’t hate him, too much, for what he’s just done. But then he thinks that doesn’t really matter. Not anymore.

Not now that it’s over and he’s gotten what he truly wants.

*

Lucas doesn’t retreat from his room until late into the next afternoon.

He stumbles listlessly down the hallway, the faint voices of his flatmates guiding him into the kitchen. When he rounds the corner it’s to Yann and Arthur sat at the kitchen table, Basile atop the counter nursing a bowl of cereal, which, any other day, Lucas would tease him for, but the fact that he himself is only out of bed at three in the afternoon doesn't exactly give him the right to be making any digs right now.

“Hey, man,” Arthur is the first to notice Lucas’ presence. “How are you feeling?”

Lucas stands in the doorway, a bit shamefully, a lot terrified. He isn’t quite sure what his friends are thinking, currently, after his outburst last night. Doesn’t know if they’re mad, if they hate him for lying to them for so many months, or if they just pity him—for how pathetic he is.

“Not great,” Lucas mumbles admittedly, bare feet shuffling against the cold kitchen tiles until he reaches the cupboard. His movements are indolent as he pours himself a glass of water, but as the cool liquid pours down his throat it relieves a fraction of the unease that has been churning his stomach all night. He ignores the way his three friends exchange looks over his head.

“Did you sleep much?” Yann asks. “I was going to come check on you, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake or not.”

Placing his empty glass into the sink, Lucas shakes his head, “I slept a little. Not much.” His voice, despite the water, is rasped with disuse, from the way he had yelled and then cried throughout the night.

Yann nods understandingly, a soft look in his eyes that is anything but pitying. Lucas doesn’t understand it, why nobody is yelling at him right now, why his phone isn’t blowing up with angry texts, people telling him how much of a liar he is. But then again, maybe he doesn’t even deserve that much, their anger. Maybe they’ve decided he isn’t worth it, worth their energy. That it would be better to just cut him off and let him suffer within his own pool of guilt.

“What time did everyone leave, last night?” He asks into the silence, not able to compel his gaze to rise above where a discarded beer bottle lies half drank on the kitchen table.

Arthur clears his throat, “Around twelve, maybe?” He looks to Yann for clarification. “Not long after you—uh.” He coughs again, a little awkwardly. Lucas is a mere few seconds from sinking into the cracks between the tiles below him.

“They hate me, don’t they?” he asks, voice small.

Yann shakes his head, “Nobody hates you, Lucas.” Lucas no matter how much he tries, finds that extremely hard to believe.

“I lied to you all for months,” he reminds them.

Arthur lets out a small chuckle. “Well, yeah. You did. But do you remember in high school when Baz told everyone he was allergic to chlorine but really he just wanted to get out of swimming classes?” Basile lets out a disgruntled sound at this, but Arthur waves a hand to brush him off. “People lie, Lucas,” he continues. “It’s shitty but it happens. What matters is that you told us the truth. Nobody is mad at you; we just care about you. We want you to be okay.”

Still, Lucas finds it hard to accept that. He has a half mind to tell Arthur that him lying about being in a relationship with his best friend for months isn’t the same as Basile being a dumbass in high school. But before Lucas can respond, Basile is clanking his bowl onto the counter next to him with an exasperated sigh before he gets the chance.

“Can we just tell him already?” he whines.

Lucas’ head snaps over to him, then over to Yann and Arthur. They’re all sharing that look again, strange as though they know something he doesn’t and it’s insufferable.

“Tell me what?” Lucas speaks up when nobody else does, confusion rising from his stomach.

Arthur is the first to take the reins. “Just” he starts, “about what you said last night.”

Lucas frowns, wants to ask _ which part _. He said, yelled, a lot of things, see. A lot of painfully honest things, a lot of things that have been weighing him down for months, a lot of hurtful things. He’s, honestly, scared of what Arthur is going to say next. He prepares himself for the worst, for Arthur to tell him they’re sick of his lying, that he should probably move out, that they don’t want anything to do with him anymore. It is, fairly, the least Lucas deserves after how he’s treated them all.

What Lucas isn’t expecting, however, is for Arthur to, with a small smile, to say this.

“You said Eliott doesn’t love you, that he never loved you. But Lucas, listen to me, you are wrong. So, _ so _ wrong.”

At this Lucas’ face falls, shakes his head, because _ no, _“No,” he says. But Arthur is holding a hand up to stop him.

“Let me finish, yeah?”

Lucas slumps back against the counter, feels like it’s all he can do.

Arthur continues, “I know this because he told me.”

“He told _ both of us _!” Basile chimes in, as though offended that he’s being left out of the scenario. Arthur sends him an annoyed look, but corrects himself nonetheless.

“Okay, Eliott told _ us _ that he’s in love with you. He was drunk, sure, but he said it, and you know what they say, _ drunk words are sober thoughts, _and all that.”

If even possible, Lucas’ frown deepens, “What are you even saying?” he whispers, voice low and a little defeated, because, in all honesty, he’s tired of hearing this, of people telling him Eliott is in love with him when Lucas knows the truth, knows that he doesn’t. Not now, and not ever.

“Why aren’t you happy?” Basile hops off the counter, arms flailing excitedly. “We’ve just told you that Eliott does love you!”

Lucas rolls his eyes with a sigh. “It isn’t that simple, Baz,” he says. “If Eliott loved me he wouldn’t have gotten back with Marco. He probably just said that to keep up the appearance, or whatever, so you guys didn’t get suspicious. Drunk or not, it doesn’t mean anything. Otherwise we’d be together right now, and we’re not, so.”

“But that’s what you’re not getting, Lucas!” Basile exclaims. “He told us this in July, Lucas, at your birthday party. _ July _! You weren’t even pretending to date back then.”

_ July _. That was five months ago, Lucas realises, suddenly, terrifyingly.

“But—” Lucas tries, but doesn’t have the capacity to finish, managing nothing but a hopeless gaping of lips.

Basile moves towards him, placing his hands onto Lucas’ shoulders, squeezing slightly.

“For as long as we’ve known you, Lucas, you’ve done this thing where you act like you don’t deserve love. You did it with your dad, with us before you came out to us, you did it with the first boy you kissed, how he tried to ask you out and you turned him away. And you’re doing it now, with Eliott. But Lucas, you do, _ God _ , out of any of us here you do deserve love. So much of it. And it hurts us to see you put yourself through this, how you convince yourself that nobody could love you. But they do, _ they do _, Lucas. And Eliott does, he loves you so fucking much and you can’t even see it.”

Lucas chokes out a sob he hadn’t even noticed had begun to creep up on him. It startles him, how he blinks and Basile’s face fades to a blur. Basile shakes him by the shoulders, as though an attempt to ingrain his words into Lucas’ head. Lucas sniffles.

“He really told you that?” he asks weakly, wiping the tears that fall onto his cheeks with the sleeve of his sweater.

Basile nods.

“It was right after Imane brought out your cake and Yann smashed your face into it,” Arthur speaks again, smiling at the memory. “Eliott had been acting quiet, so Baz and I went over to see if he was okay. That’s when he told us. We told him he should tell you, but the suggestion seemed to terrify him. We thought when you guys got together that he had finally pulled his head out of his ass.”

Lucas lets out a breath of disbelief. It’s difficult for him to imagine that—Eliott using the words _ love _ and _ Lucas _ in the same sentence.

“And you’re only telling me this now?” Lucas huffs out a laugh, because, _ fuck _ , if he had known—not like he could have known, but, _ god _ , the amount of suffering and pain they could have avoided is endless. And it isn’t like it’s a surety, but it’s _ something _, at least. More than Lucas has ever gotten before.

“Hey!” Basile defends, “this isn’t our fault!”

Lucas rolls his eyes, he hates his friends, honestly. “I know, I know.” And then, “Did you know?” he directs at Yann.

Yann looks scandalised by the insinuation. “Of course not!” he proclaims, “I swear I almost knocked these two fuckers out when they told me last night.”

And that’s. Well that makes Lucas feel not as bad. At least Yann, while knowing about Lucas’ feelings, hadn’t also been nurturing Eliott’s in his conscience. But then, Lucas thinks he doesn’t necessarily have the right to be mad, because it’s not like Arthur and Basile knew about Lucas’ feelings, it’s not like Lucas has been honest with them over the last few months. He’s glad, in a way, that they hadn’t told him. It just goes to show that his friends are a thousand times the man he is. He doesn’t say that, though, knows Basile would most likely knock him out for it.

“Well, thank you,” Lucas says, “for telling me.”

Arthur and Basile nod. Yann says, “So, what are you going to do, now?”

Lucas, truthfully, has no idea. He thinks about the gravity of it all—Eliott telling people five months ago that he’s in love with Lucas, Eliott wanting to fake date but also kiss when it’s only them, only to get back together with Marco again right at the very last hurdle, right when Lucas had been ready to tell him how he felt.

And it should. This new information should melt away the storm in Lucas’ head, should break away the mist that clouds his thoughts, but it somehow only adds more confusion into the mix.

_ Why didn’t Eliott say anything? Why did he take Marco back? _

“Hey,” Arthur’s voice breaks through Lucas’ thoughts. “You’re overthinking it.”

Lucas sighs, “I just don’t know what to do.”

He doesn’t want to fuck things up again, more than he already has. Five months is a long time, Eliott may have said that then, but he may not feel it now. There are so many things that can change within five months and how can Lucas possibly know? How could he know?

“It’s easy,” Basile says, “you tell him how you feel. Straight up, no bullshit. Just do it, done.” He says it, like it’s so simple, as easy as anything. _ Done. _

Warily, Lucas bites down on his bottom lip. The thought of doing as such, is the most terrifying thing in the world to him.

“What do you have to lose, huh?” Yann speaks next. “You two are already barely speaking, so what more damage will it do if you just tell him? I think this could be really good for the both of you, Lucas, honestly. All we want is to see you happy, and I think this could be it, I really, really do.”

And Lucas realises, then, here, that Yann is right.

When Lucas thinks back to his childhood, to his happiest memories, there isn’t one that doesn’t involve Eliott. The way he’s engraved himself into Lucas’ life in that way is irreversible. It’s consuming, but also devastatingly scary to admit, that his life will never be the same without Eliott in it.

If this, telling Eliott, is his only last hope of salvaging that, then he _ must _. Lucas must push away every fear that claws at his skin and he has to trust that the people who know him the most out of anyone in the world that it will turn out okay.

But, above all, he must trust Eliott. Eliott. Trust that telling him this won’t ruin things forever.

Later, that night, after an outrageous amount of takeaway food and the three movies Basile had forced them all to watch, Lucas returns to his bedroom.

He heads straight for his dresser, Basile’s words propelling him there, hands moving on their own accord as he searches through the bottom drawer. And there, under a mountain of clothes that he doesn’t wear anymore, Lucas finds it.

Taking it between his hands, Lucas steps backwards, sliding down onto the floor with his back against the foot of his bed. He looks down at it, at the front cover of the sketchbook Eliott had made for him, and he runs a finger along the spine, follows the path of the cover until he reaches the corner and is able to open to the first page.

Smiling at the little, _ for Lucas _, he sees there, he runs the pad of his finger over the words. He thinks about Eliott sat at his desk, or out on the balcony of his apartment, leaning over this book for hours on end. Thinks of all those hours Eliott put into accumulating all of their memories together into one place; how strangely intimate that feels.

He flicks through every page, studies every drawing; every sketch and detail until his sight becomes so blurred he has to shut the book out of fear he will smudge the pages.

Once closing the book over again, Lucas holds it to his chest, wraps his arms around it. Thinks, _ if my heart burns like this for you, does this book mean yours does for me, too? _

It’s strange, how the spark in his chest catches onto the light, a tiny flicker of hope. Lucas makes a promise to himself, then and there, that he is going to protect it. He’ll nurture that little spark until it’s a blazing flame, until it is dazzling.

Until it finds another spark to hold onto, intertwined until they become one.

*

On a Friday, Lucas’ lecture finishes thirty minutes early. He thinks that’s maybe a little bit of a miracle—how he’s pushing through the big double doors and out into the main campus grounds and Yann, who usually is the one having to wait for Lucas on Friday’s, isn’t in his usual spot by the wall next to his building.

Lucas smiles to himself, wandering over to rest against the wall, ankles crossed, head tilted back towards where the winter sun leaks through the clouds in a soft white glow, and he feels content. He watches as the trees circuiting campus sway with the wind as though proud flags in the sky, he follows the path of two girls as they descend towards the front gates; hand in hand, leaves flicking up at their heels and their hair creating ripples of waves as they go. One of the girls stops, tugging the other by the arm back into her, and there, right in the middle of the bustling campus, they kiss and they giggle and they smile as bright as the sun that leans over them.

And Lucas is smiling again, as the girls fade from his eyesight his eyes flutter shut and when he tilts his head once again, he thinks, _ there is so much love in this world, isn’t there? _

It slips into everything, consumes us when we least expect it. Like now, Lucas is here, leant against the damp wall of the social sciences building at four-thirty-nine on a Friday evening and he feels love surge through him like a current. He feels it when he thinks of the two girls, feels it when his thoughts begin to drift back to his own life.

_ You do deserve love. _

Lucas feels love in a way he hasn’t felt it before. He feels it as though it could be something that he can have, can flaunt, and not something he has to hide.

“You good, man?”

Startling, Lucas snaps his eyes open to see Yann looming over him, his tall frame swallowing Lucas in shadows.

“Yeah, all good,” Lucas responds easily. “Shall we?”

He holds an arm out, Yann nods, taking a few small steps backwards while fixing Lucas with a skeptical look. _ What’s gotten into you, _ it says, _ what’s the reason behind the smile in your eyes. _

As they fall into step next to one another, Lucas thinks, _ I don’t really know _ . As they wordlessly pass the bus stop and begin the walk home, he decides, _ maybe I’ve stopped caring, maybe this is where I let myself freefall, let love radiate from within me for everyone to see, maybe, this is it. _

“So,” Yann speaks into a break in their conversation about their upcoming assignments. “Camille is having a party tonight. She told Emma to invite us all.”

Lucas purses her lips, “Camille as in—” his words taper off as he glances sideways towards Yann, who nods solemnly.

“Eliott’s friend, Camille.”

And, _ oh _, okay.

“Okay,” Lucas’ voice is calm. If Camille is throwing a party, that means Eliott is sure to be there. Lucas hasn’t seen or spoken to Eliott since that time they bumped into one another on campus. He remembers how awkward it had been, how wrong the things they had said and the way they had acted felt. He thinks, hopes, maybe, it had been because Lucas wasn’t being honest with Eliott, and he prays that Eliott hadn’t been honest with him, either. That maybe there was something he wasn’t saying.

“If you don’t feel up to going that’s fine, we can just stay in and—”

Lucas shakes his head, interrupting Yann’s rambling. “I want to go.”

“You do?”

Yann seems a little shocked. As they arrive at their apartment building and stop to face one another, neither of them making any movement to unlock the door, Lucas says, “Yeah, I do.”

“You’re sure?”

Lucas smiles, “You know,” he mumbles, kicking a loose pebble from the pavement below them, “a friend once told me that I need to stop being so stubborn and face up to the reality of my feelings. I think it’s about time I start doing just that.”

“Oh yeah?” Yann smirks, but his eyes are warm, proud.

Lucas nods, “Yeah,” he whispers, thinks of the two girls, the happiness and the love that had radiated out of them and spilled into the surrounding streets, _ yeah. _

*

The party is already in full motion by the time Lucas and his friends arrive.

Camille lives in a small three-story terrace house down one of the side streets that lead off from the main square. There are people on every floor, swallowing every room, spilling out onto the balcony and even into the dark streets.

Lucas, Yann, Basile and Arthur make a beeline for the kitchen, pouring themselves a mixture of drinks that make them scrunch their noses up in disgust but drink happily all the same. Lucas settles with a beer, to which Basile calls him boring for, but Yann sends him a knowing smirk for.

An hour drifts by easily, Lucas chats with a few friends, gets caught up in dancing to ABBA with Emma and Alexia, then returns full circle to the kitchen to find himself another beer.

Camille has decorated her house in various tones of neon. Strips of LED lighting line the walls of every room, each one a different colour from the other. The living room had been a vibrant purple, the hallway a deep green and the kitchen a burning red. Lucas had also spotted the waves of blue that crept up to the second floor when they had first arrived.

One thing he hasn’t yet seen, however, is Eliott.

It’s devastating as much as it is not unusual. It’s a large party, Lucas hasn’t been here for very long, he also hasn’t ventured any further than the living room and kitchen area. So maybe Eliott isn’t here, yet, maybe he’s upstairs. Maybe he’s upstairs with Marco.

The thought seeps into Lucas’ head automatically, violently. He shakes it off. _ You don’t do that anymore _ , he tries to remind himself as he takes a long swing of his beer _ , fear doesn’t guide you anymore. _

Sighing, Lucas goes to return to Emma and Alexia on the dancefloor, but before he is even halfway out of the room someone is coming at him from the side, a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back and around and then Julien is looking down at him, grinning easily. The stench of strong alcohol surrounds Lucas potently as he says, “Lucas, hey.”

Lucas clears his throat, responding with a curt, “Hi.”

It’s, you see, not like Lucas doesn’t like the guy. He’s nice, considerate if you will, but he also circulates like a fox, waiting for his prey to be left defenseless before he pounces. A little like he was with Eliott, a little like he waited for Lucas to be alone tonight before approaching him.

“You never texted, or called, after our date,” Julien cuts straight to the chase, frowning. His words are slurred, vowels merging together clumsily.

“Yeah,” Lucas sighs, “Sorry, I just—”

Julien scoffs, “Let me guess,” he interrupts, “your head is still all over the place.”

He says it, with a deriding look on his face, mockingly. Lucas juts his chin out, wiggling his shoulder out of Julien’s grip to take a steady step back.

“No,” Lucas argues, “I know exactly where it is.”

At this Julien smirks, his left eyebrow quirking as he takes a step forward. “Oh yeah?”

He must have mistaken Lucas’ indignation—his confidence—for flirting. He leans in, but Lucas is quick to place two hands firmly on his chest to keep him at a safe distance. “Look, it was a lovely date, it was,” he explains, “but I just don’t think I’m ready to move on.”

The thing about honesty, lately, is that it’s been seeping into Lucas’ life a lot more easily. Fluent like waves against the sea’s shore on a summer’s day. It makes him feel lighter, burdens fading away like smoke because he doesn’t _ have _to lie. There is no reason to lead Julien on when Lucas is certain how he feels, it was good to tell his friends about his and Eliott’s plan because lying to them had felt wrong, and, this, in doing this it helps him reach that final step. If he hadn’t lashed out that night Basile and Arthur would have never told him about what Eliott had said. Lucas wouldn’t be here, right now, with hope weaved deep in his chest like summer vines.

Whatever reaction Lucas gets in response to these spurts of honesty is a little like falling headfirst from a high mountain—terrifying and unpredictable. But Lucas knows, now, no matter how people react, this is what he needs to do.

“What?” Julien, in that sense—well, it was never going to be a smooth road.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas says calmly, removing his hands when he’s sure Julien isn’t going to make any further moves. “But it’s probably best if we just leave things here, with Eliott—”

Once again, a grunt of dissatisfaction slips into the small space between them. “Eliott, of course,” Julien spits. “Didn’t he dump you for his ex?”

Lucas’ face hardens at this, “You don’t know anything about what happened.”

“I mean, it’s all the talk. Everyone knows.”

Lucas thinks about that—about people around campus talking about it, their gossip whispering like knives. How, if only they knew. If only they knew how deep it already cuts without the added knowledge that it has become the topic of their coffee date conversations. He decides he hates that; hates that people he doesn’t even know think they have the right to decide what has happened between him and Eliott when that’s _ theirs. _ It’s their right and it’s their lives and it’s their love. _ Lucas and Eliott’s. _

“It’s none of anyone’s business,” Lucas rephrases.

It’s always been like that, for Lucas. Which is perhaps why he always felt so uneasy flaunting their ‘relationship’ in front of everyone, and why, in the moments where it was just them, it felt so much more special.

Julien only shrugs, ignoring Lucas’ words and clear uninterest to take a final step towards him, or, more like a drunken stumble.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he murmurs, “How crazy you drive me?”

He cups Lucas’ cheeks, and it’s as though his hands have been tainted with dirt. They don’t fit there; they don’t melt into Lucas’ skin. They are too warm yet cold all at once, too large, too small. It isn’t right.

Lucas is about to pull away, but at the same moment his eyes catch onto a slight movement in the distance, over Julien’s shoulder.

And, there, blinking at Lucas under the purple glow of lights filtering in through the living room, stands Eliott. He has a look on his face that Lucas can’t quite read. He knows how this might appear—him, here, with Julien pressed up against him, hands cupping his face, Lucas’ hands placed over his chest.

Lucas stands frozen, doesn’t even realise how close Julien has begun to lean in, and he blinks and Eliott is turning on his heel and pushing through the crowd.

It’s the incentive Lucas needs to use all his strength to push Julien away, because _ no, this isn’t how things were supposed to go. _Gasoline ignites Lucas’ blood, giving him the power to create enough distance to dunk under Julien’s arm and run through the ghost of a gap Eliott has left in the swarm on the dancefloor.

Lucas pushes through rooms of purple and green and red, moves until he reaches the hallway, eyes searching frantically over every inch of the room for any sight of Eliott, of his familiar mess of hair, _ anything _.

“He went outside,” a voice comes from next to him. Lucas turns to find Camille nursing a red plastic cup, glitter painted high on her cheekbones and in the parting of her hair. “Go,” she nudges him with her elbow, smile warm and knowing.

Lucas nods, “Thank you.” And he runs.

Desperation claws at Lucas’ skin, seeping into his blood and wrapping around his bones, propelling him out of the house and into the darkened streets outside. It surges him forwards along the paths, around corners and across roads. His lungs expand and ache, his cheeks sting against the cold, the faint beginnings of rainfall dampen his hair but none of that matters because he can see Eliott in the distance, his shoulders hunched as he wanders into the night with his hood pulled over his head and all Lucas can do is move faster.

As he nears the other boy, shins almost numb with how badly they ache, he forces himself to keep going. Because he needs to fix things. He has let them fall apart, he’s let the flood ruin them, allowed the current to sweep them up and surge them in opposite directions. Lucas did that. He’s let them escape one another and he _ needs _to fix it.

“Eliott,” he shouts, “wait!”

Eliott must hear, he isn’t that far away. Lucas can tell by the way his steps falter only to speed up slightly.

Lucas thinks, desperately, that he can’t let Eliott walk away from him like this, not again. But the only way to make a sound when you’re this far underwater is to scream.

_ You don’t have to keep it quiet. Be loud, be loud, be loud. _

So, Lucas yells, “Eliott!” louder this time, deafening. “_ Eliott! _”

He shocks himself with how loudly his voice bellows out of him, how it echoes through the streets and between every raindrop, how it claws against his throat and leaves it feeling raw. It must startle Eliott, too, as he stops in his tracks, finally. But he still doesn’t turn around.

Lucas notes the harsh rise and fall of Eliott’s shoulders, perhaps from breathlessness, or from anger, perhaps from both. Lucas takes a few tentative steps forwards, then a few more, and more until he’s close enough to reach out and place a hand over Eliott’s right shoulder. It jolts under Lucas’ touch; Lucas snaps it away as though he’s just been burned.

“Eliott,” he says again, only quieter, desperation laced into every letter.

Eliott twists his face to the side, watches Lucas over his shoulder before finally turning to face him. But his head drops, eyes focused on his feet as the puddles below him almost swallow them up and all Lucas wants to do is reach out with a hand under his chin to tilt it up until the skies open and his eyes catch the light from the streetlamps above to set Lucas’ skin ablaze.

_ I’m not going to let us hide behind this anymore. _

Lucas takes a deep breath. “Why did you leave?”

Still not looking up, Eliott shrugs. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, voice low and cracked.

“You do know,” Lucas insists. And then, “Hey,” he says, “look at me. Please.”

Huffing out a breath, Eliott looks to the side first, swallowing thickly. And then, slowly, when his eyes finally meet Lucas’, his jaw is set, lips pulled into a thin line. It reminds Lucas all too much of himself, that film he’s wrapped across his features, a barrier built so that he doesn’t get hurt, a preparation for rejection, for always being the one left behind.

_ Not anymore _, Lucas tells himself.

“What do you want me to say, Lucas?”

Eliott’s voice, when he speaks, is defeated, a little wrecked. It evokes a deep ache in Lucas’ chest, how he towers over Lucas yet still seems to appear so much smaller.

“I want you to tell me exactly what you’re thinking. Not what you think I want, or need, to hear,” Lucas says, “I want you to be honest with me.”

The scoff Eliott lets out is unexpected, it pushes Lucas one step back. “Me? Be honest?” he laughs, but there is no humour behind it whatsoever. It’s dismal, dark like the starless sky above them. “Well that’s a bit rich, coming from you.”

Lucas’ stomach sinks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just,” sighing, Eliott folds his arms, “just that you weren’t honest with me, when you said there was nothing between you and Julien.”

“There _ is _ nothing between me and Julien,” Lucas is quick to respond.

Huffing again, a little like he’s fed up, a little like he wants to _ give up _, Eliott says, “Don’t bullshit me, Lucas. I saw you both back there.”

“It’s nothing!” Lucas shouts in defense. Once again he’s reminded of how it had looked, back there, in Camille’s kitchen. _ Just be honest. _ “I mean, yeah, _ okay, _ we went on _ one _ date, but that’s all.”

At this, Eliott, if even possible, seems to shrink even further into himself. “You—you went on a date with him?”

Lucas hates this, hates how their words are harsher than they need to be, hates that they are still tiptoeing around the truth, the hands of fear trying to reach back into their chests and steal their hearts.

“Why do you fucking care so much anyway?” Lucas bites back. “You got back together with Marco. It shouldn’t matter what I do now.”

“I’m not back with Marco.”

“You—what?” Lucas tries, in the darkness that consumes them, to digest Eliott’s words. But he can’t quite make out what the crease between Eliott’s eyebrows might mean, why his breathing is still spilling out onto the street in desperate puffs.

Eliott shakes his head, little droplets of rain falling from his hair as he does. “I didn’t get back together with Marco.”

Lucas, gaping stupidly, can’t form any words. “But—you, but he said, _ you said _,” he stutters, hands fisting at his sides before mumbling a weak, “You said you did.”

Eliott is looking at Lucas with pleading eyes, wide and a bit terrified. “I didn’t,” he says, “I _ wouldn’t. _”

“Don’t,” Lucas pleads, “Don’t do that. You made it seem like you did, I asked you about it and you didn’t correct me so don’t—” Lucas lets out a frustrated breath. Hands clenching, hands unclenching.

“I thought there was something between you and Julien, that’s why,” Eliott interrupts abruptly, then speaking again, only softer, he says, “I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“Jesus Christ, Eliott. What is it with your fixation on Julien? I’m telling you there’s nothing there, why do you keep—” Lucas cuts himself off, taking a steady breath and running an exasperated hand through his own hair. This isn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. They weren’t supposed to get mad at each other, they were supposed to talk. Lucas is here to _ fix things _, not to push Eliott further away. “You were never holding me back from anything. I told you that,” Lucas finishes, calmly, when his blood cools down.

Eliott’s gaze sinks away, his teeth catching onto his bottom lip. He mumbles something, then, but with his face tilted downwards and with the patter of rain surrounding them, Lucas misses it entirely.

“What?” Lucas asks.

Looking up, Eliott’s eyes are swallowed by the darkness of the night, little droplets of water atop his eyelashes that Lucas doesn’t know whether to write off as the rain or tears or both.

“I said,” he takes a shaky breath, “what if that’s what I had wanted, to hold you back from anyone else.”

Dumbfoundedly, again, Lucas blurts out, “What?”

See, Lucas had, deep down, half expected this. He isn’t entirely oblivious, he’s seen for himself the way things were with them and he knows what his friends have told him so, really, this shouldn’t come as a shock to Lucas. But, yet, as Eliott speaks again, as he says, “What if I don’t _ want _ you to be with anyone else,” Lucas finds himself completely, utterly, lost for words.

However, he must fall quiet for a beat too long, as Eliott looks away again, a dejected look on his face as he takes a step back. “Never mind,” he murmurs, “I should go.”

He turns to walk away.

“Hold on! Wait!” Lucas calls, racing forwards to grab Eliott by the arm and twist him back around.

And now, standing opposite one another, with Eliott’s confession settling deep within Lucas’ chest and leaking into his heart, Lucas takes a deep breath. _ This is it, _ the melody sings, _ it’s time. No more fear. _

But Eliott manages to beat him to it, with a deep breath, he announces, “I waited for you.” It’s a little sudden, a little inapposite. Lucas has no idea what he’s talking about.

“What?”

Tucking his chin into his chest, fingers toying with the zipper of his jacket, Eliott whispers, “That morning, when I woke up you were gone. I thought—I thought you’d freaked out.” He’s speaking so quietly, as though this is the first time he is speaking. Lucas thinks, distantly, it may as well be. His words are so raw, so gravely honest they cut deep into Lucas’ heart, wandering dangerously close to the stitches that have messily patched up the wounds there. “But I remembered you most likely had work. So I left it. But then you texted, saying you were coming over and that we needed to talk. And so I waited, I waited all fucking day, Lucas, and you never came. I thought you’d changed your mind about everything, about _ us _.”

And that’s—Lucas hadn’t known that. He’s talking about the morning after they slept together. He’s talking about the day Lucas bumped into Marco. Confusion only settles deeper into Lucas’ bones, tries to reignite the storm that has since died down there as though a flame to gasoline.

Shaking his head, Lucas says, “I came straight from work, I was going to come and talk to you, but I bumped into Marco just outside. He told me that you two were giving it another go. I—” Lucas swallows, tears have begun to spill down his checks with every blink, he wipes them away with the sleeve of his jacket. “Why was he there, Eliott? If you didn’t get back together then why was he there? Why did he say all of those things?”

With wobbling lips, Eliott swears under his breath frustratedly, as though the realisation of something has just slapped him across the face.

“He came over because I hadn’t been answering his texts—hadn’t been for quite a while, actually—and he was trying to convince me to forgive him, to get back together. But I said no, Lucas, I swear I said no. I didn’t even let him into the apartment. He was there for all of five minutes and I made him leave. That’s all.” He frowns deeply, his own tears falling shamefully down his face. He doesn’t even bother to wipe them away. “I had no idea you bumped into him, after that. I thought you just changed your mind.”

Lucas, allowing every single one of Eliott’s words sink in, can’t quite believe what he is hearing. There is nothing he can do but let out a breathy laugh. “You’re telling me Marco was lying to my face and my dumbass believed every word?”

“He’s such a fucking asshole,” Eliott huffs. A few months ago, Lucas would have killed to hear Eliott say such words. Now, though, now he can’t even enjoy them. Not when so much more still needs to be said.

“Why didn’t you correct me, then, that time we bumped into each other on campus. I said I was happy for you both and you didn’t correct me, why?”

A little guiltily, Eliott’s gaze falls away. “The same reason as before. I didn’t want to hold you back. I thought, if you thought I was happy then you would let yourself be happy with Julien. It sounds so stupid now, but I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Lucas sighs. “That is stupid,” he tells Eliott. _ It’s stupid but it’s okay, _ he thinks, _ we’re here now, aren’t we? _

“I only went on a date with Julien because I thought you had gotten back together with Marco and it killed me,” Lucas admits, tries his best to catch Eliott’s eyes. “Because I was going to tell you that night we slept together,” he continues, “and then that morning, but I never got the chance, because Marco was there telling me that you were giving it another go and all I have ever wanted is for you to be happy, so I let you slip away from me, and it’s been the biggest fucking regret of my life. I should have told you when I had the chance, then maybe none of this shit would have happened.”

Eliott, taking a tentative little step forwards, lets out a hitch of breath. “Told me what?” he asks.

_ No more hiding. _

“That I never wanted you to get back together with Marco. That seeing you with him killed me. That when I’m with you it’s like nothing I have ever felt before. That you mean everything to me, _ everything _ , Eliott. That—” he takes a deep breath, swallows down the tsunami of tears that threaten to spill over his eyes. “That I love you,” Lucas blurts, as crystal clear as the light that hits off the waves of the sea at midday. “That I’m in love with you. That I have been ever since I was fourteen and didn’t even know what the fuck love was. But I do, Eliott, _ god, _I love you more than anything in this entire fucking world and no matter what happens after this, good or bad, I just need you to know that.”

And, there it is. Out there, as vivid and honest and as bright as the colours that make up Eliott’s sketchbook. And Eliott stands there, watching Lucas with a stunned look on his face, light with relief but darkened with fear.

Instead of saying anything, Eliott takes one final step forwards, and he moves so close that his forehead knocks against Lucas’. The thud of the movement, as light as it has been, steals every last breath of air from Lucas’ lungs. Eliott keeps them there, anchored by the way his palms find Lucas’ cheeks, how the pads of his fingertips press into the skin he finds there. And the night around them is so cold, but the way Eliott’s breath ghosts over him, how his hands envelope Lucas’ face in a gentle yet firm grip, induces a warmth so violently strong within every inch of Lucas’ body that the fact that they are standing out in the middle of the street in the pouring rain on a dark winter night doesn’t even matter.

It doesn’t. Nothing matters, now. Not now that he has Eliott here, this close after confessing to him the one thing that has terrified him more than anything else in his life ever.

_ Kiss me, _Lucas thinks. It’s a little hard not too, really, when he can practically feel Eliott’s lips brushing against his own.

It feels like Eliott is preparing himself to say something. So, taking a shaky breath, standing so impossibly still as to not scare him off, Lucas gives him time. He lets Eliott hold him close and he waits for the silence to end.

When it does, it’s like little fireworks explode within the darkest corners of Lucas’ head, setting alight every lonely place he has ever tried to hide within.

“I never thought—” Eliott’s lips wobble. And it hits Lucas, then, that Eliott hadn’t spoken because he had been trying to control the threat of tears. Lucas reaches out, fisting his hands into the material of Eliott’s jacket to tug him even closer, so he can wrap his arms around Eliott’s waist in a way that says, _ it’s okay, I’m here, we can be honest now, it’s okay. _

“I never thought I would ever get to hear you say that,” is what Eliott finally manages to get out, pressing his forehead firmer against Lucas’, tilting so their noses brush together. He then sighs, eyes wide and grievous. “Never thought I would be so lucky, I don’t—I don’t deserve that. _ This. _”

The words, as much as they confuse Lucas, are laced with pain, with an ache that isn’t new. It sounds like something Eliott has been harboring within himself for a while now. It all feels too familiar to Lucas. Eliott takes a step back, hands falling from Lucas’ face. It seems like it takes everything in him to do so, like he’s having to force himself to.

“What do you mean?” Lucas asks, frowning at the sudden bitterness that numbs his cheeks at the loss of Eliott’s warmth, hands ripped from around Eliott’s waist.

“I used you, Lucas. I let you think we were pretending to date so I could get Marco back, when really that stopped being the case after the first two weeks. Really I was just scared of losing you, of losing this.”

Lucas shakes his head, can’t hold back the little laugh that escapes past his lips. It’s ridiculous, really, how not talking to one another has led them here. He moves forward, making up the distance Eliott had created, lifting his hands to hold onto Eliott’s face, keeping it just there, firmly, so that he can’t look away.

“Well,” Lucas murmurs, “if you used me, then I used you, too. For going along with it knowing that I was in love with you. Does that mean I don’t deserve you, either?”

Eliott takes a few moments to digest the gravity of Lucas' words, before he shakes his head, slightly.

“No,” he whispers, and again, firmer, _ “No _,” as though the mere insinuation is profane.

“Then don’t ever say that.” Lucas presses his fingers into Eliott’s cheeks momentarily, a transient gentle pressure, before releasing, and then again. Just because he can, because Eliott is here and he can. “Don’t say that.”

“Have you really—” Eliott starts, eyes flicking down to Lucas’ lips briefly and Lucas can’t help the way his mind screams, _ kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. _Eliott then lets out another frustrated breath, causing a cloud of smoky air to dance between their faces, because his voice cracks once again. “Have you really felt it, all this time, that you love me?”

Without any hesitation, Lucas is nodding. “_ Yes _ ,” he says, thinks, _ had it not been obvious? _“I love you so much sometimes I feel like I can’t even breathe,” he admits.

Then, suddenly, a little unexpectedly, but then again, not really, Eliott’s hands fly up to cup Lucas’ cheeks, and he’s pulling him forwards to crash their lips together.

It’s not as much as a kiss at first, but a gasp from Lucas and a choked-up sob from Eliott. But soon enough they find their feet, and their lips fall into a rhythm so natural Lucas has to ask himself how he went so long without Eliott pressed up against him like this. The heavens open further, and the rain consumes them. Their teeth chatter with it, raindrops soaking their hair and slipping into the backs of their t-shirts but none of that matters. Not when the heat of Eliott’s lips sets a raging fire ablaze across every inch of Lucas’ skin.

Lucas’ hands find Eliott’s hair under the hood of his jacket, fingers gripping onto the damp strands to tug him closer. It evokes a small moan from him, the sound fading between the slots of their lips, the dance that their tongues begin to make against one another.

Slowly, reluctantly, Lucas pulls back for air, giggling when Eliott blindly tries to chase his lips.

“Hey,” Lucas whispers, soothing his hands through Eliott’s rain-soaked hair, smiling at how it flops ridiculously over his forehead. “It’s cold. We should go.”

Eliott shakes his head, “Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

It’s a little amusing, the way they are stood here in the freezing cold and Eliott still manages to look so effortlessly beautiful, pouting and smiling all at once.

“No,” Eliott mumbles, before surging forwards and pressing their lips together once again. And Lucas lets him, lets Eliott kiss him until he’s breathless with it, until their clothes are entirely soaked through with rain.

And when Eliott finally pulls away, blinking at Lucas as though in complete awe, he smiles, warm and a little like the weight of the world has been brushed from his shoulders. And he shakes his head, letting out a light breath as he soothes his hand over Lucas’ cheek and down to his neck. Eliott smiles at Lucas and it is bright unlike anything Lucas has ever seen before, and he says, “I am so, outrageously, in love with you, Lucas Lallemant.”

And Lucas, for the first time in years, breathes.

*****

They somehow make it back to Eliott’s place.

And even when Lucas is finally able to convince Eliott to move from their spot in the middle of the street because he can no longer feel his hands, Eliott still manages to stop every few minutes so that he can press Lucas up against a nearby wall and kiss him there, instead, senselessly, until they are both dizzy with it.

Eliott drags Lucas into the bathroom, leaving him standing there, clothes dripping puddles onto the tiled floor as he goes to turn the shower on.

Idly, Lucas watches Eliott begin to strip off his own clothes. First his jacket and then his t-shirt, milky pale skin illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight that spills in through the bathroom window.

“You should take those off.” Eliott’s voice breaks through his thoughts. He gestures to Lucas’ clothes. “You’ll catch a cold.”

Lucas thinks, before tugging his own jacket off, _ I don’t care, it’s worth it for you. _But his teeth are chattering, and the hot steam that fills the room is far too enticing to turn down. So they both strip until they are entirely naked, and, it hasn’t really been that long, but Lucas’ breath still hitches at the sight of Eliott, standing there in front of him looking so undeniably stunning. Lucas almost cowards away from him, from the way Eliott is looking at him.

“Come here,” Eliott murmurs, reaching out to take Lucas’ hand and guide him into the shower.

Lucas follows easily, sighing when the water hits his skin. It’s a little unpleasant at first, the way his hands and feet almost burn with the sudden change of temperature, but then Eliott is there, towering over him and tilting his head back with a hand at the back of his neck and he’s pulling Lucas into a soft kiss.

Melting into it, Lucas hums, thinks, he would love it if Eliott would just kiss him like this forever. He says it, too, accidentally, but once it’s out there, there is no taking it back, and he likes how it causes Eliott to smile so wide his eyes break out into little half-moon shapes.

“I’m going to kiss you for as long as you let me,” Eliott tells him.

“Forever,” Lucas insists again, quietly.

Eliott smiles again and it’s infectious.

They take turns washing each other’s hair, and then their skin, hands lagging because it feels good, movements slow because neither of them want the moment to end just yet. It feels intimate in a way Lucas has never felt before, like their mutual confessions have flicked on a switch, and now everything that had once been good is even better; brighter, radiant, glowing unlike anything has before.

Eliott rinses the last of the suds from Lucas shoulders, placing a gentle kiss there and Lucas says, “I love you.” Just because he can, just to try it out. Because he likes how it sounds on his tongue, how the words form around his lips, spilling out into the hot steam that surrounds them and finding their home in the soft cushion of Eliott’s heart. Right where they belong.

Most of all, though, because the way Eliott cups his face, smile soft as he mumbles right back, “I love you, too,” sends Lucas into a feeling he had thought was only attainable in his dreams.

Later, after they have dried off and changed into warm clothes, Eliott walks Lucas to his bed.

They sink into the sheets, becoming one under the covers. Lucas lets Eliott take him apart, slowly, wholeheartedly, with love. Soft words are pressed into skin, gentle marks that may fade on the outside, but deep down will remain there forever. Eliott works Lucas up until he is breathless, and then guides him back down until he is dizzy with it.

Lucas has never felt this light and free in his entire life.

And after, as they lie tangled around one another, skin hot and minds hazy, the only light in the room coming from the glare of the moon rising high in the night sky outside, Lucas is the first to break the gentle silence. The silence that has settled within the dim corners of Eliott’s bedroom.

“This,” he breathes, “Does it mean we’re—are we—” he pauses, not knowing how to properly get the words out.

Next to him, Eliott shifts slightly, reaching out to brush back the hair that sticks to Lucas’ forehead. “What, my love?”

Lucas’ breath hitches, he shuffles closer, tucking himself further under Eliott’s inviting arm, nosing against his warm chest.

“Does it mean we’re together now, like, properly?”

Eliott chuckles, quietly, “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?” he teases.

Lucas thinks about brushing it off—of going along with Eliott’s teasing to ease his embarrassment. But he decides he doesn’t want to. He’s made a promise to himself to be honest about his feelings and so that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

“Yes,” he says, simply, peeking up from Eliott’s chest to see his reaction.

What Lucas finds there is something he had not expected. A smile, but glazed over eyes. Eliott blinks and a single tear trickles down his face. Lucas reaches up, catching it with his thumb before it can disappear.

“You know,” Eliott murmurs, “I thought, for so long, that it never meant anything to you, all those times. You were always saying how it was just casual.”

Inside of his chest, Lucas’ heart cries out, it aches at Eliott’s words. How this entire time they have been keeping these thoughts from one another, how badly they have hurt one another. Lucas promises himself that he will never let another day go by without letting Eliott know how much he means to him.

“But it did—it _ does _ ,” Lucas tells him, “It meant everything to me, Eliott. _ Everything _.” And it isn’t enough, Lucas knows that it could never be enough—could never make up for the amount of pain they have both caused one another. He knows that they still have so much to talk about, so much to work through. But for now, it’s enough.

For now Lucas lets it be enough.

Running his hand along Lucas’ cheek, Eliott nods. “I know,” he whispers, “I know that, now.” And then, with a kiss to Lucas’ forehead, he says, “Of course we’re together. That’s all I have ever wanted, to call you my boyfriend, for real.”

Lucas smiles back at Eliott, at his boyfriend, and he realises, above all, it is this that means everything to Lucas. Things, these things. Simple things. The soft curl to Eliott’s smile, the glint in his eyes as they catch the glow of the moon at night and the glimmer of sun as they wake, the way his hand fits so easily against Lucas’; fingers slotting together, warmth spreading across skin. In that split second, in the moments before his touch, every nerve in Lucas’ body seems to become electrified. It’s the feeling of being together in a way that’s more than words, more than anything. In a way that is entirely tangible.

And those things, those simple things, like how they fall asleep wrapped around one another, as the night fades and the morning unfurls with an easy softness. Like the softness of snowflakes as they melt against the slight warmth of your cheeks, where words are sparsely spoken yet tender all the same.

Lucas looks at Eliott in the morning light, a new light, and he smiles, nudging his shoulder with his nose and he whispers, “Eliott.”

Eliott hums, blinking at Lucas tiredly, green eyes laced with little golden flecks.

“Eliott,” Lucas whispers again, drifting closer, his lips brushing Eliott’s with every syllable, touching but only barely.

“Mm?” Eliott mumbles, eyes fluttering shut, his breath hot against Lucas’ mouth.

Lucas smiles, brushing his nose against Eliott’s. “Daffodil,” he murmurs, deafeningly quietly.

He captures Eliott’s giggle in a kiss. A real one.

The stars align and Eliott kisses him back. One spark, luminous and bright, catches onto another. And for once Lucas isn’t thinking about anything other than them, here, right now. That this is okay. That they love each other, and that finally, they can breathe, together.

Finally.

(In a small room, in the depths of Paris, two sparks shine brighter than the sun that peeks through the morning clouds. And two boys, tangled in white sheets; light radiates from their chests and it spills out of them in pools of golden, consuming them, painting the bedsheets in bursts of colour. It’s an enthralling sight to see: two hearts, finding one another, after all this time. You can almost see it, you don’t even have to look that closely—the very moment they allow themselves to let go, the exact second they let themselves fall into one another. The moment in which they pull down the façade and look at one another and think, _ there is so much love in this world, isn’t there?_)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u all stop YELLING at me now. look at that!!! they are so in love!!! so gross!!!! anyways, the next chapter will be entirely eliott's pov from chapter one onwards!!
> 
> let me know what u think :) comments and kudos are very much appreciated!! reading all of your thoughts gives me life ✨
> 
> my tumblr - [@lumierelovers](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m going to pretend it hasn’t been like three months idhdj also i kind of hate how this turned out but maybe i’ve just been looking at it for too long.
> 
> also thought i’d mention that eliott’s friends in this aren’t based on any skam characters, the names of some just happen to be the same i guess, which was entirely unintentional. but anyways, i hope u all enjoy <3 i hope it’s not entirely terrible

_Eliott._

It starts one Friday afternoon with a text.

Eliott has been working on this animation thing for a while, now. It’s kind of a silly thing, a project that isn’t really worth very many marks in the grand scheme of things for him to get too stressed out over. The drawing part, it’s easy, he does it digitally. It doesn't feel the same as taking a pencil to paper does, not quite. But it’s enough to distract him from the few things that have been weighing down on his chest recently. Or, a lot of things. Editing requires a bit more thought, but again, it’s a good distraction.

It’s late before Eliott leaves the library, later than he would usually allow himself to spend on campus on a Friday, but he had managed to get a good bit of his work done, so he lets it slide.

His phone buzzes as he’s waiting by the bus stop, crammed into a corner by the rush hour crowds. He tries to ignore it, the way something in his chest unfurls when he reads the message across his screen. _I’m having a party at mine tonight, _it says, _you should come _. Perhaps it’s stupidly hopeful, for Eliott to read that and for a spark inside of him to catch alight, one that he’s been trying so hard to bury.

And it is a bit unfair, he thinks, how the feeling makes him stare at his phone until it goes dark and then almost miss his bus when it arrives, because it’s been _weeks _and he’s only hearing from Marco now. But he still sits there, now on the bus, blinking down at his phone, and like clockwork, that spark, a defiant little thing, clings onto a trace of hope that should have died a long time ago. And Eliott can’t help it, really, when he calls up Yann and convinces him to tag along with the others just so Eliott doesn’t have to go alone. 

He’s weak that way when it comes to Marco, always has been.

They met in first year, Eliott and Marco. It was good to begin with, Eliott had been feeling the pressure of being thrusted into this new environment, one that had classes of close to seventy students, none of which he knew, having to familiarise himself with all of these new routes and bus times and class schedules and it was all just feeling like a lot.

But then there was Marco, third row of the literature class Eliott had signed up for just because it seemed interesting and offered extra credits. It happened quickly, Eliott kind of blinked and there they were, spending most of their time together, calling each other boyfriend. There’s not much to say about it, now, not really. He isn’t necessarily sure when things became so frayed around the edges, but there were some fights, breaks that never really lasted very long to be anything significant. It’s why the past few weeks have hit a bit harder, Eliott thinks, it’s the longest they’ve spent apart since first getting together. It’s fine, though, as he said, it never lasts long, the dips. When it’s good, it’s good, when it’s bad Eliott deals with it, and it’s fine.

Idriss and Sofiane are in the kitchen when Eliott lets himself into the apartment.

“Good day?” Sofiane asks, opening the fridge and taking out a carton of milk.

Eliott drops his backpack to the floor, then, falling into one of the kitchen chairs, shrugs. “Marco texted me.”

He says it firstly because he knows, by now, that there is no use hiding it. Not from Idriss and Sofiane, who know too well that Eliott is no good at lying, they’d see it right in his face, how the spark in his chest curls into something difficult to ignore.

“Eliott,” Idriss is quick to groan, “_ No _.”

Eliott looks at him incredulously. “I haven’t even told you what it was about yet.”

“Yeah, but I know how you think,” Idriss says, leaning his elbows on the table, “and this can’t be good. It never is. Tell me you aren’t going to go there again.”

The thing is, Eliott knows what his friends think, about him and about Marco, he sees it in the way they look at him, as though he’s pathetic for constantly going back to someone who always seems to let him down. But Eliott knows what he’s doing, and Marco is like, this persistent thing in Eliott’s life that he can’t seem to stay away from. Maybe it’s a comfort thing, knowing that there’s someone out there that will always reach back out for you in the end. And, sure, Marco has his moments, but most people do, no relationship is ever perfect, Eliott thinks, and when things with them are good, it’s really good. So Eliott is fine, he is. He’s being careful.

“It’s only a party, Idriss,” Eliott defends lightly.

Idriss only looks at him, fed up, then proceeds to throw a dishcloth at Eliott’s face.

“You know, I would go with you just to make sure you don’t do anything stupid, but I have too much work due in tomorrow.”

“Same, Eliott, sorry,” Sofiane says, sitting down next to Eliott with his bowl of cereal.

“It’s fine, Lucas and the guys are coming.”

His flatmates share a look, one that Eliott decidedly chooses to ignore. He doesn’t think too much into what Idriss would classify as stupid, he thinks, anything that involves Marco, probably. He almost rolls his eyes at the thought.

“I’ll be good,” he insists, smiling sweetly, “you worry too much, Idriss.”

Idriss only sighs.

*

The party is already in full swing by the time Eliott arrives, buzzing in a way that’s easy to lose yourself in. Which Eliott does do, for the first while, and when he catches sight of Marco in the kitchen fumbling with some bottles of drink, he’s considerably along the lines of inebriated, the alcohol in his system enough to propel him through the apartment and into the kitchen. He’s standing right in front of Marco before he can really think too much into it.

“Hey,” he yells over the music. 

Marco looks up, smiling briefly. “You came.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I thought.”

Eliott hums, sets his drink onto one of the kitchen counters and leans in closer. He stumbles, a bit, Marco is quick to place a hand to his waist to steady him. It burns, a little, Eliott can’t really tell if it’s in a good or a bad way.

Marco exhales sharply. “Look, Eliott. I asked you to come because I wanted to say I’m sorry, you know, for the way things ended. I know it was shitty. But I think it’s for the best, we were never right for each other. It was always going to be too complicated, with, you know.” He makes a flippant gesture with his hand, vague, but the harsh insinuation is there. Eliott blinks, it hurts.

In a strange, fucked up way, in a way that it really definitely shouldn’t, it hurts. And the burn, Eliott decides, not a good one.

Eliott pulls away, says, “Right, yeah. Okay.” Tries not to let his disappointment show, because he had stupidly hoped tonight would change things. That spark in his chest had been flickering, and he thought that by Marco inviting him, here, specifically, would be any different than any of the other times. 

It isn’t like Eliott doesn’t know how difficult the way he is makes things, sometimes. It isn’t like he’s surprised, when Marco looks the way he does, when he could have anyone he wants, someone who isn’t as complicated to be with as Eliott happens to be.

So yeah, that sucks.

Eliott swallows, hard, then nods as Marco says something about maybe seeing him later. He isn’t, really, listening at all. The spark gets stomped out, harsh like the last embers of a campfire would. And he thinks, as he lets Marco walk away, that it really shouldn’t hurt like this, not after all this time. It’s quite unfair, actually, the way his chest aches with it. He turns, eventually, forcing his eyes away from Marcos retreating back. It only takes a few moments for his eyes to land on Lucas. He’s at the other end of the kitchen, alone, looking into his cup with a disgusted look on his face, and Eliott can’t help but smile.

He saunters up to him, grinning now because parties are always so much more fun when Lucas is around, and Marco is an asshole, anyway. Eliott just needs to forget about it.

Lucas’ drink, Eliott discovers, is an absurdity that needs to get fixed. “I’ll get you something nicer,” Eliott suggests. And he does. They spend the majority of the night together, after that, just fucking around in the kitchen. It reminds Eliott a lot of the way things used to be, with them, before Marco. That’s on Eliott, though, mostly. But he isn’t thinking about it.

Lucas is making these ridiculous jokes that have Eliott, in his drunken state, almost keeling over, and it’s good, it’s easy. Easy until, that is, Eliott looks over, and there is Marco, again, talking flirtatiously with some other guy. Something ugly twists in Eliott’s stomach.

“Are you okay?” Lucas’ voice comes softly, kindly. And then he’s asking if he’s gotten back together with Marco, and that thing in Eliott’s chest grows again like a weed, stubborn and messy. And he gets this thought, a fleeting one that he shoves away.

He says, “I think I can get him back,” and when Lucas asks how, the thought only comes back again louder, exigent. 

“I have to make him jealous,” Eliott decides.

Lucas looks at him incredulously, asks, “What do you mean?”

The events after that are, admittedly, a little blurry to Eliott. He isn’t really thinking much, is the thing, he isn’t thinking _at all. _Eliott remembers looking at Lucas and thinking, _yeah _, _okay, _and he remembers asking, _if that’s okay, with you _, and he remembers how Lucas’ lips had felt against his own, warm, a bit desperate.

And he remembers how Lucas had looked at him when they pulled apart. How it had made the growth in Eliott’s chest falter, but only for a second, and he had blinked, and it was gone. A trick of light, perhaps.

And that had been that.

*

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Lucas shoves him to the other side of the bed with a disgruntled look, even more so when Eliott tells him that it’s just gone seven in the morning.

Admittedly, Eliott hadn’t expected anything less, he knows full well how much Lucas despises waking up early, but it’s just, Eliott had woken up to a text from Marco, _since when were you into Lallemant, _it had said, and Eliott had stared at it, a bit confused at first, until everything had come rushing back to him. And then there was that thought again, right in the centre of his core, and it had taunted him, _what if, _it had said, and it hadn’t stopped, not the longer Eliott lay there, and especially not when he had sighed, got changed, and headed straight over to Lucas’. 

And now he’s here, asking Lucas, “Do you think we could do it again, but like, for longer. Pretend to be together?” And he feels so incredibly silly, because Lucas is his best friend, and he’s incredibly good looking, charming, in fact, and he surely has a lot better things to be doing than playing along with Eliott’s childish schemes. It’s a lot to ask, he realises, but Eliott really thinks this could work, _he does _, and it’s not like it would last very long. All they’d have to do is make out at a party once or twice and that would be that.

And Lucas doesn’t seem to mind, anyway, even if the way he looks at Eliott is a little bit terrifying and extremely hard to judge.

Because of that, because the memory of last night is still a little too raw in Eliott's head, because it just feels necessary, he jokes, “you have to promise you won’t fall in love with me though,” laughing lightly.

“You wish,” Lucas jabs back instantly, easily. And the tension dissipates, and Lucas lets Eliott stay to get a bit more sleep while he leaves for work. And it’s fine, it is.

*

“I knew you two would figure things out eventually,” Sofiane is saying, falling down onto the sofa next to Eliott, throwing his legs over Eliott’s. Eliott huffs, shoving him off.

Lucas had come over after work so they could talk about the logistics of their plan. In the end deciding to reveal their relationship with an instagram selfie. Eliott had said because it’s easier that way, to which Lucas had just called him lazy. It worked though, which is the main thing. And he had gotten another text from Marco not even an hour later, saying, _you’re a thing now then? _Eliott had just responded with a simple, _yeah, _and left it at that. He hasn’t checked his phone since.

Lucas had left a while ago, and it’s late, but Idirss had insisted that they stay up and play video games together, since he managed to hand in all of his work on time and now needs to let his brain do something thoughtless after living in his books for a week straight.

“What?” Eliott asks, watching amusedly as Idriss battles with the wires of his playstation.

“You and Lucas,” Sofiane explains, “I mean, it took you long enough to get there, but I think this will be really good for the both of you. I’m really happy for you, honestly.”

Eliott only stares at him, not really knowing what to say. But in the end he only smiles, says, _yeah I know, _and then let’s both of them kick his ass in Fifa seven times over, because he knows they’d only slap him silly if they knew the truth.

  
  


*

The thing with this animation Eliott is working on is that it had started as something he just had to do in order to pass his course, but the more he works on it, the more it comes together and begins to take shape, it starts to become kind of like a premise for something bigger. _Polaris _, he decides to call it one Monday morning, as he’s sitting in-between Camille and Elias in their screenplay lecture. He thinks about the prospect of bringing the characters to life, of having real actors and a set and maybe a screening a bit like something out of hollywood. The thought is silly, really, because it’s only him, and the figures he sketched messily on the ipad he borrowed from the school’s equipment log could be better, but the thought still appears and clings onto something. And Eliott thinks that he would quite like that, actually, to have something of his out there for people to see, to maybe relate to a bit.

Sudden chatter erupts within the lecture hall, Eliott blinks, realises it’s ended and that he hadn't been paying attention to any of it. He packs his things then follows as his friends pile outside. It’s early still, Eliott has to squint a little to see past the glare of the sun. They wander away from the crowds, until the sun falls behind the shade of a tree, and then there’s a nudge at Eliot’s side.

“So,” Alex looks at him brightly, “_ someone _has a new boyfriend I hear.”

Eliott sort of just blinks at him, lost, thinks, _what _, and then, _who _. Then almost laughs at himself, because, _right, him. _

He smiles. “I guess.”

“You _guess _?” Camille gasps, skipping in front of them so she’s talking to Eliott face-to-face, walking backwards, Eliott fears for a second that she might fall. “An understatement much? I saw your post, Eliott. Lucas, really? _The Lucas _.”

_“The Lucas _,” Eliott scoffs, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Camille stops walking suddenly, the rest of them almost bumping into her. She looks at Eliott a bit hilariously, the slight breeze tangles into her hair, a few curls coming loose from the bandana knotted at the top of her head. She jabs him lightly in the chest. “_ Lucas _, as in your best friend, Lucas. That’s such good news!”

“It’s not a big deal, really,” Eliott tries to brush it off, tells them exactly what Lucas and him had agreed to tell people, “It’s kind of been leading to that for a while, just.”

“Oh but it is a big deal,” Elias chimes in, “the fact that you talk about him like, all the time, and _I said, remember—” _he points to Camille frantically, “—that they were probably secretly in love, or something, didn’t I? _God, I knew it _.”

Eliottt huffs lightly. “I don’t talk about Lucas all the time.”

His friends only laugh, Camille falls back into step beside them, looping her arm through Eliott’s. “Oh, but you do, my love. And it’s so adorable, we’re so happy for you both, really. You’re going to have to properly introduce us to him at some point now, though.”

Alex snorts. “Do you think this group can handle more gay?”

“Alex, darling,” Camille coos, “there can _never _be enough gay in one group, seriously, you should know that.” 

Eliott laughs. Alex only flips them off.

*

The week gets busier, after that, Eliott gets a bit lost in editing the final pieces of his animation, the write up to go along with it and his few evening shifts at the video store. He doesn’t think much about anything other than getting it all done in time. Lucas texts him a couple of times, to see how things are going. Eliott’s replies are scattered, mostly, in-between the scant breaks he forces himself to take for his own state of mind. He appreciates the thought though, he does, and he knows Lucas would never take it to heart, anyway, if his responses come back a bit shit and not very interesting.

On Wednesday, when Eliott is walking home from his shift, his phone buzzes against his thigh. 

It’s Marco, Eliott sees when he pulls his phone out, _what are you doing right now _, it reads. Eliott stops walking, the gold of a streetlight falling over him and making it feel a bit like he’s been caught under a headlight.

The thing is, Eliott hadn’t expected it so soon, this. And he knows what those words intend, knows that he could respond with, _nothing _, and the next thing he would be over there, at Marco’s flat, probably in his bed if he played his cards right, and the plan with Lucas would have worked with minimal effort. But the truth, what causes Eliott’s to pause over his keyboard, is that it is so soon. It’s happened before, during a break, where Marco would text him to come over and they’d fuck, and Eliott would think, _good, things are back to normal _, only Marco would ask him why he’s still there the next morning and say things like _we probably shouldnt have done that _.

And Eliott, despite what all his friends may think, does have a reasonable level of self-respect to not fall into that particular trap yet again. He loves Marco, he does, being with Marco is easy and it’s familiar in ways Eliott can cope with. So he will, when the time is right, get back with him, he will. But right now it’s too soon, and Eliott knows this.

So. He lets out a light breath, responds with a short, _have a project to finish, _and doesnt let it sting too much when Marco reads it not even two seconds later but doesn’t reply. 

  
  


*

  
  
  


The thing with Lucas sort of takes flight. Their friends seem to accept it with no questions, which is a bit unnerving. Eliott had half expected that they'd have to do a bit more convincing, but for some reason that he doesn’t understand nor want to really think about, most people just look at them and they say, _yeah, I knew it, _or _, I’m really happy for you. _

Eliott does feel bad, for lying to them, he does. But thinking about it too much is stressful, so he doesn't, and trying to find meaning to what they all say about Lucas and him becomes far too perplexing, so Eliott doesn’t do that either. And it works, and it’s easy. Lucas doesn’t complain when Eliott drags him out to a new party every few days to kiss him senseless into a dark corner, and Eliott definitely doesn't think about how good of a kisser he actually is. How something warm settles under his skin when Lucas presses up against him, how when Marco approaches them, once, the feeling of Lucas’ lips dragging away from his had felt like being pulled from a dream, startling, dizzying, _abrupt. _And when Marco had insulted Lucas, something ugly had clawed its way up from the bottom of Eliott’s gut, a feeling that he had forced down because he’s better than that, and Marco is only acting out of jealousy, he tells himself.

When Marco leaves and Eliott pulls Lucas into another kiss, he lets it consume him in a way he hasn’t before, and it feels good, weirdly, having Lucas’ hands in his hair, his breath hot against Eliott’s. He smells like cheap cologne and sweat, boyish. It kind of gets everywhere, sticks to Eliott’s clothes in a stubborn sort of way, a way that he can’t get rid of even when he gets home and lies in bed, restlessly, bottom lip worried between his teeth.

Eliott doesn't sleep very well, that night, he can’t figure out why.

  
  
  


*

  
  


The seasons merge, absently, Eliott almost misses the point in time in which the sky becomes less blue, how the walk to class gets a bit colder, how he’s started to look at Lucas now and get this different, strange sort of feeling in his chest that he can’t really describe.

He’s been tied up in too many things that probably don’t matter, things that he needs to get done but aren’t necessarily urgent. He does them anyway, because it’s easier to focus on that rather than the texts that Marco sends him that only go unanswered.

Eliott can’t explain it, really, not to himself, and especially not to Lucas when he asks about it. Which he does, seldom, because of course he would. Why wouldn’t he, want to know when this thing they’re doing will end? It’s not like he wants to be tied up in Eliott’s petty games forever. It’s not like the kisses they share mean anything to him like they’ve started to for Eliott, slightly, _sadly. _

Because it is sad, it is, the way Lucas meets him after class one Friday and all Eliott can think about is how beautiful he looks, why he hasn’t really noticed that before, how obvious it is, now.

“Hi,” Lucas grins, “you ready?”

Eliott coughs, pushes the thought away, because it’s stupid, because it’s Lucas, and they’re only friends.

“Of course.”

They end up in some coffee shop on campus, it’s too crowded, they find a table at the back close to where the toilets are.

“Romantic,” Lucas comments, sipping on his tea. Eliott only laughs.

“So. How have you been?”

The question makes Eliott pause and think, for a brief moment. He’s been fine — busy, mostly, but that’s nothing new. He’s been keeping himself distracted, from a lot of things, things he’s being trying not to think about.

He doesn’t tell Lucas any of this.

“Okay, I guess,” he says instead, hands cupped around his coffee mug. “I finished my project, finally.” It’s something, at least, one useful thing that he’s done the past few weeks that hasn’t included some sort of self-destructive outcome.

Lucas leans a bit closer, his eyes rapt. “Oh yeah? The animation?”

Eliott hums. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not the best I’ve done, but,” he says, the direction of the sentence falling flat.

There’s a piece of artwork hung up on the wall above Lucas’ head, an abstract blend of blues and purples and golds. It looks a bit like an ocean, or something. Eliott blinks at it, momentarily, thinks about how long it’s been since he painted something.

“Are you kidding?” Lucas let’s out a light breath. Eliott’s eyes flit back down to him. “I mean, I didn’t see it finished, but the parts you showed me a while ago, Eliott, it was amazing. You’re too hard on yourself.”

And that’s just the thing, isn’t it, Eliott thinks. He’s like that, just, critical of not necessarily other things but himself, mainly. Because you have to be, when you’re being put up against the best, an industry like this one. But he chose that, Eliott took this path, one that’s not the easiest but it’s what he had wanted to do. And so he did it. And so he has to be hard on himself, on his work, he does, otherwise what’s the point, where would he get?

“Hey.” Lucas’ voice comes softly, whispered despite the loudness of the coffee shop. Eliott still hears it, though, because of course he does — it’s Lucas. A hand covers Eliott’s own where it’s still wrapped around his mug. It’s warm, Lucas’ skin is, it burns, slightly. Eliott swallows. “Are you okay?”

It’s unexpected, the question. It sneaks in-between the gaps of his ribcage before he can catch it, slips into his chest, latches onto his heart, makes a home there. Eliott lets it, for a moment, lets it simmer there, seething, _distracting. _

“I’m okay,” Eliott tries to sound convincing, but his voice, shaky, quiet, betrays him slightly. “I’m okay.” Lucas just looks at him, mouth twisted into something unreadable, then his hand slips away. The sudden lack of warmth is formidable, Eliott makes an effort to ignore it, the burn that lingers, but then fades. And if his smile is stretched a bit thinly, Lucas doesn’t mention it.

“You know,” Lucas says instead, changing the topic, “when you’re the most famous film director, producer, _whatever, _out there, you better not forget about me, here.”

Eliott can’t help but laugh at that. “How could I?” It’s true, too true maybe, Lucas doesn’t seem to mind. He grins, wide and boyish. “You’re so annoying, I wouldn’t be able to get rid of you even if I tried.”

“First of all, rude,” Lucas points a teaspoon at him. “And for that I’ll be expecting lots of freebies, too, whatever movie I want.”

“Oh yeah?”

Lucas hums, he smiles down at his drink, stirs it distractingly with the teaspoon.

“I don’t know if that’s how it works, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I’m sure you will.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, challenging, but then Lucas’ face breaks, and he’s laughing, bright and pretty, his head tipping back to the ceiling, eyes scrunching shut.

And it hits Eliott, all at once, sort of.

You see, there’s been this feeling tugging at Eliott’s chest for a while, now, one that was gentle at first, a bit persistent but easy to push down. It only really came about when they would be kissing, Lucas and him, and Eliott had convinced himself of the normality of that, kissing someone and feeling things no matter who it is. But that feeling, it only grew more constant, harsh like waves are in the middle of a storm, relentless, hard to ignore.

And now Eliott is here, watching as Lucas continues to laugh, and he wants to kiss him so badly.

That thought — it’s comes, and it’s terrifying. 

Eliott tries to shove it back down, make it go away, but Lucas is too pretty, too captivating, too wonderful bathed in this sort of dusty winter light, pale bits of yellow caught in his eyelashes, the tops of his cheekbones, and Eliott can’t, really, he can’t let the thought go.

He tries, but he can’t, and that’s his first mistake, probably.

  
  


*

  
  


Sofiane meets Eliott for lunch one day in-between classes. He’s already there when Eliott piles in, windswept and a bit out of breath, in the corner of an off-centre cafe that serves all day breakfast.

“Hey,” he greets Eliott happily, looking up from his menu when Eliott sits down opposite him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Eliott pants, “have you ordered yet?”

“Not yet.”

It’s quiet in the cafe, the peace is something Eliott welcomes. He guesses three o’clock is probably a strange time to go for lunch, but he had gotten held up in the studio again, this time helping Camille with some editing problems she was having.

Sofiane, with his usual warmth, asks Eliott about his day, and then tells him about his own in return. The waiter comes to take their orders, and then, Sofiane asks this.

“So. How’s Lucas?”

The question sort of takes Eliott aback, unfolds into a soft panic. He thinks, briefly, that maybe Sofiane secretly knows something, knows that Eliott has been lying this entire time about everything, and is trying to catch him in the act. But Sofiane isn’t like that, Eliott reminds himself, he isn’t.

“Good, yeah,” Eliott responds, pushing those thoughts away, “Things are good.”

Sofiane nods, smiles kindly. It’s why, after the waiter returns with their food, after a few moments of silence have passed, Eliott asks, speaking cautiously, “Why weren’t you shocked,” he pokes a piece of lettuce with his fork, sneaking a glance over to Sofiane, “when you found out about us?”

There’s a brief pause, Sofiane watches him, then sets his own fork down. “Why are you asking?”

Eliott shrugs, aims for as much nonchalance as he can manage with Sofine staring at him so intensely. “I’m just curious.”

Nodding, Sofiane lets out a light breath. “Do you remember what you told me, months ago, at Lucas’ birthday party?” 

Eliott sends him a confused look.

“Yeah. I’m not surprised,” Sofiane laughs, “you were pretty drunk. But you were acting off all night. Basile and Arthur came over to check if you were okay, I guess they noticed, too. You went on a bit of a ramble, actually, it didn’t make much sense to be honest.” Sofiane pauses, looks at Eliott weirdly. Eliott glances down to the table, lifting the napkin there and scrunching it into small bits between his fingers. “One thing you did say, though, was that you thought you had feelings for Lucas.”

Eliott’s eyes snap up. He does remember that night, vaguely, he remembers getting drunk, too drunk. And he remembers how it hadn’t sat well with his new meds, how dizzy he had felt. But that’s all, really, the rest is mostly a blur. Though, he definitely doesn’t remember saying _that _, or even thinking it. 

He frowns at Sofiane, asks, because he doesn’t really know what else to say, “I — What?”

“You said that you had feelings for him, or something, I can’t remember exactly. But yeah, I didn’t bring it up again because I thought you probably didn’t mean to tell us in the first place, so I left it alone. That’s why I wasn’t shocked when you two actually got together.”

“Oh,” Eliott breathes, “I don’t remember.” It’s a pointless thing to say, useless, but he can’t really think of any other words.

“That’s okay,” Sofiane seems to find Eliott’s light state of shock quite amusing. “As I said, you were really drunk.”

Eliott blinks down at his shredded napkin, his thoughts backtracking over Sofiane’s words and settling onto one finer detail that causes his stomach to flood with dread. “Wait, you said — did you say Arthur and Basile were there?”

“Yeah,” Sofiane answers, shrugging, like it doesn’t mean anything. But it does, Eliott thinks, terrifyingly, it means so much. Too much. It means that two of Lucas’ closest friends know that Eliott has feelings for him, because Eliott had to go and run his stupid mouth and then not even remember doing so. _What if they told Lucas? _Eliott thinks, alarmingly.

“I told Imane too, by the way,” Sofiane’s voice cuts into the silence, Eliott’s flooding thoughts. “Sorry. Just, we tell each other everything.”

He thinks about that, and this, too, about the fact that he confessed these supposed feelings for Lucas months ago, how much more complicated that makes things. How people know, how Sofiane knows and Basile and Arthur and now Imane, all before Eliott really knew himself, before he _let _himself know.

“It’s okay,” he tells Sofiane, thinks that it has to be, really, otherwise he’ll start to notice that something isn’t quite right, that Lucas and him aren’t actually together and that Eliott is a lot more pathetic than he initially thought he was.

*

  
  


Eliott asks it, only because he’s been having too many thoughts about it, recently. About love, about Lucas, and about friendship and all the things that fall in-between. It’s been eating away at him, gradually, like the sea erodes the land, all of Eliott’s crumbling edges being chipped at and washed away until he has barely any structure left and his heart has nothing to hide behind.

“Lucas,” he whispers, the movie they had been watching a long forgotten thing by now, “have you ever been in love?”

Lucas only looks at him blankly. Eliott shifts under his stare, regretting the question already, how obvious it had been, how obvious he is being with his own heart. After a while Lucas seems to shake himself, mumbling a small, “no,” that cuts into Eliott’s chest like a knife. He tries not to let whatever disappointment he feels show on his face, because it shouldn’t shock him, Lucas’ answer, really, it shouldn’t. They’re just friends, Eliott is the one getting ahead of himself, feeling things that are unfair when all Lucas is doing is helping him out.

Then, quietly, Lucas’ voice comes again, and it’s soft, falls into the space between them as though a feather drifting in the wind. “What’s it like,” he asks, “being in love?”

Eliott can’t control how he smiles at the question, he is, he knows, just weak like that.

See, Eliott thinks about Lucas and he thinks about love and the two things just seem to fall together easily. In a way that they definitely shouldn’t but do. And he thinks about how he used to believe Marco was the only constant thing in his life that could make him feel things, but now he’s looking at Lucas, and he’s thinking, _you’ve been here right in front of me this whole time and I didn’t even see it _. Eliott looks at Lucas and he thinks about love, and it all makes sense, for once, everything makes sense.

And so Eliott tells him, he tells Lucas exactly what it’s like to be in love, to look at someone and think, _you’re my everything _. And he thinks of Lucas the entire time, but that can’t really be helped.

Because Eliott is in love with Lucas, he knows this, and he’s realised this, and it’s a ruinous thing to feel, will likely only end in one way, a disastrous way. 

Although, there’s not much Eliott can do about that, now.

Idriss and Sofiane arrive home, after a while, demanding they watch the football instead of the movie that’s already on. Eliott pretends to sulk, but deep down, in a way he would never admit aloud, he doesn’t mind, not at all. Not when it means Lucas has to crawl onto his lap to make room for the others, and then falls asleep in his arms like he was always meant to fit right there against Eliott’s chest.

  
  


*

The situation with Marco is complicated, is the thing, too much to think about on most occasions. Eliott had thought once, incontestably, that he was in love with Marco and that he would maybe even spend the rest of his life with him. He’d convinced himself that that’s just what you do, when you find someone that fits the mould of something that needs to be filled.

But now, looking at it, Eliott thinks there’s a possibility that he was maybe only in love with the _idea _of Marco — of staying in something that seemed constant, easy, attainable. Because being with anyone is better than being alone, right?

Eliott had thought that, once, not even too long ago. 

But now things are changing, and the way Eliott looks at the concept of love is changing. He’s realising that maybe love isn’t being with someone for the sake of it, it isn’t losing sleep over who they might be with when they don’t come home, or staying just because it’s easier than leaving. Love shouldn’t feel like a task, like something you have to constantly convince yourself of.

Eliott has known Lucas for as long as he can remember. Their friendship has always felt intense, in a way. Eliott has never really been able to explain it, why he feels the way he does around Lucas.

Now, Eliott knows this about love — 

Lucas drinks his tea black in the morning but with milk in the evening, he likes it when you play with the hair at the nape of his neck, he learned the piano as a child because his mother once said she found the sound of it calming, he pretends he isn’t bothered by the dark but Eliott knows he prefers it if the hallway light is left on while he sleeps, there’s a box under his bed that he keeps every single drawing Eliott has given to him since he was eight years old.

— and it’s these things, these simple things that are only a handful of the threads that unravel inside of Eliott’s head when he thinks of Lucas and love and what that means for him now.

And that’s terrifying, really, it’s petrifying to look at Lucas and want everything but deep down know that he doesn’t deserve anything. Lucas is everything Marco isn’t and more, and Eliott is just hopelessly, recklessly, _outrageously _, in love with him. And that’s just that.

  
  


*

  
  


Eliott isn’t good at this, hiding how he feels.

Neon is obtrusive, it’s everywhere, and it hurts Eliott’s head. It’s green over the walls, blue on the ceiling, it’s pink on Lucas’ cheekbones, and it’s bright, too bright, and it highlights every single one of Eliott’s ill-advised thoughts and plasters them right over his face for everyone to see.

Eliott is terrible at this — at looking at Lucas and trying not to let it show that he’s his everything.

And so he slips away, mumbles something to Lucas about catching up with some friends when he sees Camille, Alex and Elias stumble in through the front door and he’s gone before Lucas can even respond.

They all greet him excitedly, and it’s good, it’s easy. Easy when they get a drink and migrate to the staircase, when they all tease Alex about the new boy he’s been seeing because he blushes too deep, and when Elias tries to psych Camille up to go and talk to the cute girl that had been by the drinks table. It’s easy when they joke about the time Alex threw up in the taxi on the way to a club, how the couple a few steps above them keep making these weird sounds that don’t sound normal at all.

Eliott tries not to think about Lucas, about how beautiful he looks tonight, how Eliott had almost kissed him, back there, in his bathroom, neon stains on his fingertips. How he definitely would have if Basile hadn't interrupted them.

It was probably for the best, in the end, probably saved Eliott a whole lot of hassle. A whole lot of heartache.

It doesn’t last long, though, the ease. It never does, because soon enough —

“Hey.”

Eliott glances away from Alex, and there is Lucas, looking down at Eliott with this soft look on his face. Something bubbles inside of Eliott’s chest. He’s drank too much, Eliott knows he has. And he does count, usually, tries to stay on top of it, but tonight has been a lot. When Lucas looks the way he does it’s difficult to think of anything else, really.

“Lucas! Where did you go? I was looking for you!”

“Oh you were looking, were you?”

Eliott hums. He was thinking about it, at least.

Grinning, he tugs on Lucas’ arm until he gets the hint and falls into Eliott’s lap.

“Guys,” Eliott announces, the bubbles in his chest rising, “this is Lucas, my boyfriend.” 

Eliott does it, only, because he wants this, he does, he wants it so bad — but he can’t have it, all he has is this pretend, watery thing that’s based off lies and selfishness. So he continues to lie, he lies when he doesn’t really need to because maybe it makes things feel just a little bit real, and that gives him something to hold onto. 

”I’m so glad to finally meet you!” Camille is screeching, and then she’s saying, “Eliott doesn’t shut up about you, honestly.” And Eliott kind of blacks out for a second.

Lucas seems to find it hilarious, and Eliott thinks, on any other occasion he would love for Lucas to meet his friends, knows he would fit right in with Camille's enthusiasm and Alex’s bluntness but right now Eliott is distracted. Lucas shifts in his lap and something in Eliott’s stomach twists. He exhales sharply. 

“Alright, we’re leaving.”

He ignores their protests, how they’ll definitely tease him for this on Monday morning. Eliott doesn’t care. He drags Lucas back into the living room, into a far corner where they can be left alone. Lucas looks up at him, his eyes are a coruscating blue, patterns of colour fade over his face, inordinately, prettily, he’s too beautiful. Eliott has to look away.

He feels it in his gut like a sinking ship, then, when Lucas looks at him and he says, “Your ex is here.”

Eliott’s eyes snap back over to Lucas. 

“You didn’t know?”

“No,” Eliott frowns, looks behind him out of a lack of anything better to do, “No I didn’t.” And he is there, Marco, right under the arched wall that leads into the kitchen. Eliot glances away before he can catch him looking.

“What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Eliott whispers, helplessly.

And that’s just the thing, isn’t it, _Eliott doesn’t know _. He doesn’t know why he has this persistent ache in his chest that twists when Lucas looks at him, why it’s there now and has maybe always been there, he doesn’t know why he never noticed it before, why he does what he does, next. Maybe it would have happened regardless, whether Marco had showed up or not, Eliott doesn’t know — he kisses Lucas. And Lucas kisses him back.

It feels — different. Maybe Eliott is imagining things, maybe there’s nothing different at all about the way Lucas kisses him, how he arches up into Eliott’s arms, the way he grips onto Eliott’s neck a bit tighter, how he lets a muffled sound slip in-between the gap of their lips, how his tongue slides against Eliott’s, slow and desperate. It feels different, but it’s probably not, Eliott is drunk, he’s imagining things, he is.

He pulls away. Lucas blinks at him, a bit dazed. And it’s stupid, how a spark in Eliott’s chest lights up. It’s not unlike the one from before, from weeks ago when the premise of this held an entirely different meaning, but it’s also not like it at all. This spark, it makes Eliott do stupid things, reckless things that will probably get his heart hurt if he isn’t careful. 

He doesn’t, like most things, seem to care. 

So Eliott lets himself act a little reckless for one night, lets himself drag Lucas onto the dance floor and kiss him silly, there, instead, where he can blame the glint in his eyes on a trick of the light and the roaming of his hands on the vodka from the kitchen table.

And then when that feels like not enough, yet simultaneously too much, Eliott lets himself tug Lucas into the bathroom, and he says, _people will think we’re fooling around in here _because he doesn’t know how to stop while he’s ahead, and then he does more stupid things like call Lucas _baby _and say, _I feel like something is missing, _and he doesn’t correct Lucas when he says that Eliott is in love with Marco even though he isn’t, anymore, even though all he wants to do is kiss Lucas, badly. And then, worst of all, he says, _I could give you a hickey, to make it more believable. _To which Lucas just sits back and lets him

Afterwards, amidst the haze, Eliott somehow ends back at Lucas’, lying restlessly in the bed next to him. And this, again, it’s stupid — stupid how Eliott says Lucas’ name, presses him against him.

And it is a stupid thing to do. It’s stupid when Eliott pins Lucas down and grinds their hips together, when he dips his head into the crook of Lucas’ neck, over the mark he shouldn’t have left earlier but did. And it’s especially stupid, when Eliott mumbles a reckless, _I think I love you, _into the skin of Lucas’ neck. He’s lucky, he is, he’s lucky the words are diffused by the way Lucas sighs out Eliott’s name, he’s lucky that the night is too hazy, their breathing too loud, for Lucas to hear him at all.

  
  


*

  
  


In the morning, Eliott wakes to a headache that feels like death and a sleeping Lucas next to him. It takes approximately thirty seconds for him to piece together the events from the night before and instantly want the ground to swallow him whole.

Lucas’ face is bathed in the morning light, diffused yellows and golds framing the curves and dips there in a pretty glow. There’s a soft pattern on his cheek from the pillow, sketched along the entire right side of his face. _He’s beautiful _, Eliott thinks. The thought forms around his chest, fits against the gaps of his ribcage in a painful sort of way, in a way that makes it hard to breathe. And for a moment Eliott panics, looks at Lucas asleep next to him, his hair a mess, streaks of neon paint along his exposed collarbone, his neck, his jawline, and he _panics. _

_What the hell have I done, _he sits up, carefully, tries not to make any sounds, _look at what you’ve done. _

Eliott doesn’t _want _to look, anymore, feels too ashamed, too ridden with guilt. The feeling spreads throughout his chest, makes his stomach churn, it’s what causes him to roll out of the bed, to find the few pieces of discarded clothes strewn across Lucas’ floor that belong to him, and to slip out of the apartment as though he was never there in the first place.

The guilt, as Eliott walks home, it only multiplies. It latches onto a pulse and drags him home, limbs heavy.

See, Eliott _knows _, he knows he isn’t good at hiding how he feels about most things. But he thought, naively, that with this, with Lucas, that perhaps he could try. That he could make this work. But with Lucas, with these feelings, they were always going to be too intense to push down, too severe to ignore. So, retrospectively, Eliott isn’t shocked, he isn’t, but it doesn’t make the situation any less terrifying.

Because, he caved, because he let his feelings slip through the cracks in the mould, because Lucas probably knows, now. He’ll wake up and he’ll remember what Eliott did and maybe what he said, in the dark of the night, into the warmth of his skin. And he’ll never want anything to do with Eliott ever again, for using him, for lying to him, for ruining what they had. 

Which is fair, completely understandable. Eliott will just have to deal with it. It’s his own fault, anyway, for falling too hard, for thinking for even a second that he would be able hold it in.

  
  
  


*

A few days pass, and to Eliott's surprise, or undeserving luck, they don’t talk about it. So, out of panic, Eliott tries to keep things as normal as possible, thinks that if Lucas doesn’t remember then _Eliott _isn’t going to be the one to bring it up and make things weird.

And it’s fine, things are okay, nothing has gone to shit yet, which — well, it’s all Eliott can hope for, really.

“Do you think if I break this tripod Denis will send me home early and I can go back to bed?” Elias asks at some point into their first class of the day.

Eliott snorts. It earns him a glare from Denis himself, who looks at Eliott sternly and then resumes his speech on the importance of returning the department’s equipment on time.

“I would pay to see you try it,” Eliott whispers back when he’s sure Denis isn’t listening anymore.

Elias only sends him a look.

It’s some practical on camera work today that’s actually really boring. He’s never really been into that, filming, prefers to write the story instead of capture it. It’s always been like that, back when he was a kid, he was always the one coming up with the stories and the ideas and Lucas would be the one to hold up his dad’s old camcorder, giggling behind the lens as Eliott made a fool of himself in front because there was never anyone else important enough to let into their little game.

_You’re going to be the best movie star ever _, Lucas would gush, his grin wide and toothy. To which Eliott would always scoff, say, _not a movie star, Lucas, a director, a writer, a producer. _

_You can be all of those? _

_The best can. _

Things have changed, since then, considerably.

Eliott doesn’t like to think too much about why that might be, how it’s entirely his own fault for falling like he has, for realising how he felt when it was already too late — now that the pieces of his heart have scattered out too far and too long to be able to pick back up.

  
  
  


*

  
  


Eliott, with his hand on his heart, had no idea Lucas would be here tonight.

But he is, and he looks far too alluring, too pretty under the severe strobe of coloured lights, a shiny sheen of sweat along his cheekbones and his forehead as they dance together, and it’s driving Eliott insane.

His eyes are a violent hue of blue, shutting as he tilts his head back and smiles, then, when they open, he stares at Eliott through the light haze of smoke like a light amidst a thick fog.

And so, it happens again. Eliott can’t really be blamed for the way he kisses Lucas, there in the middle of the dance floor in the club for no reason other than he feels too much, for no excuse other than it just happens, and Lucas sort of just lets it, so Eliott does, too.

Lucas’ lips are pliant against his, a bit desperate as he tugs Eliott closer by the t-shirt and opens his mouth to the swipe of Eliott’s tongue. He tastes sweet, it’s so undeniably lovely, the feeling that unfurls in Eliott’s chest. A feeling that only spreads wider, like the sun falling over a field of wildflowers, when Lucas arches into Eliott and fists his hands into his hair, tugging, _needing _.

Eliott pulls away for a breath. The image he sees in front of him is something otherworldly, blues and purples swallowing Lucas entirely, his cheeks flushed a deep red, lips swollen, pupils blown out wide. Eliott wants to paint it. The thought is abrupt, not unexpected, he finds himself wanting to capture Lucas’ beauty most of the time anyway.

“Let’s get out of here,” Eliott finds himself saying, suddenly. Lucas blinks at him, exhales sharply before nodding, then let’s Eliott drag him out of the club with their hands joined.

The taxi home is unbearable. Eliott sits next to Lucas with his hands under his own thighs out of fear that if he gives himself the opportunity he’ll only go and do something stupid like reach out and run his hands through Lucas’ hair, trace the lines of his forehead, the smooth curve of his bottom lip. It’s torture, is what it is, to have Lucas right beside him looking as dishevelled and as beautiful as he does and not be able to touch. 

As soon as they’re inside Eliott’s apartment, after stumbling tipsily up the stairs, Eliott presses Lucas up against the hallway wall. Kisses him there like he needs it to survive, swallowing down the gasp that leaves Lucas’ mouth when his back hits against the surface.

“Eliott,” he breathes, hands clenched into his sides. Eliott hums, licks into Lucas’ mouth when it parts around the word, lets the softness of it echo within the empty apartment, tries to pretend it means something that it doesn’t.

Lucas kisses back languidly, and Eliott can feel how restless he’s becoming, hands tugging Eliott closer, sounds growing more desperate, his hips pressing forwards. It’s dizzying, Eliott can’t tell, at this stage, how affected he is from all of the alcohol he’s consumed tonight, whether kissing Lucas has sobered him up and intoxicated him in an entirely different way.

Regardless, Eliott is pulling away and tugging Lucas into the bedroom before he can think too much into it. Their clothes scatter, discarded on the floor along with all of Eliott’s rational thoughts. He’s left his window open, incidentally, the breeze is subtle but pleasant, falls over the flames that Lucas’ fingertips leave on his skin and makes them simmer down into a softer sort of ache.

An ache that’s bearable, but just about.

Eliott pushes it away, lets the warmth of Lucas’ skin beneath his lips consume him until he isn’t thinking about anything at all but this — Lucas under him, fisting into the sheets, the weight of him against Eliott’s tongue, how he tastes, the soft skin of his inner thighs, the sound of his voice when he says Eliott’s name.

Eliott thinks of all of these things and he doesn’t even need Lucas to touch him before he’s spilling all over his own hand. It’s embarrassing, tremendously so. Eliott is drunk, they both are, Lucas doesn’t seem to mind.

They fall down next to each other, limbs heavy against the sheets. Lucas lies there with his lids shut, for a moment Eliott allows himself to just watch, quietly, when nobody else is around to catch him. Moonlight falls over Lucas’ face scantly, prettily, there’s a slight tilt to his lips, one that goes upwards. Eliott tucks the duvet further up to Lucas’ chin and has to force himself not to let his hands linger. Lucas hums contentedly, burrowing himself further into the warmth of the sheets.

“Goodnight, Lucas,” Eliott whispers, doesn’t even know if Lucas hears him, with how the sharpness of his breath tapers off into a quieter rhythm.

Eliott, sometimes, when he has Lucas like this, all soft and pliant next to him, thinks about saying it, of whispering, _I love you, _into his warm skin just to see what would happen.

But as it stands, he cannot. So, instead he watches, silently, as the moon shifts its weight, as the night slips away, as Lucas stirs but doesn’t wake.

And in the morning, when he finally hears Lucas shuffle, how he swears lightly at the position that has taken form during the night, how he untangles himself from Eliott and rustles around until the bedroom door opens and then clicks shut, Eliott tries not to let the ache in his heart burn too much. And, as he stares at an oddly shaped shadow on his bedroom wall, he thinks, dejectedly, _so that’s a thing we’re doing now, then. _

  
  


*

  
  


The late morning sunlight stretches thinly over campus. Eliott stands outside the social sciences building with a too sweet latte in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other, a weight of words hung low in his chest that he’s too afraid to let loose.

He had gotten another string of texts, last night, ones like, _I miss you, _and, _I’m sorry, _and, _I want you back. _Eliott figures he was drunk, Marco, probably. Still, he had ignored every single one.

Which is something he does now, mostly. There was one night where he had gotten so irritated by it that he had typed out a frantic, _leave me alone _, without thinking very much. Just because he had been in a weird mood anyway and his phone wouldn’t stop yelling from the coffee table, and Lucas had been there, on the other side of the sofa running a ridiculous commentary on the movie they had been watching, sending Eliott these worried looks every time his phone would make another sound, and Eliott just _couldn’t _anymore.

So he snapped. He hadn’t heard from Marco since, until last night.

When Eliott sees Lucas, stumbling out of his lecture hall and the soft glow of winter sun falls over his face, Eliott’s chest feels lighter, suddenly, and his thoughts quieten, just for a second.

But — 

Lucas isn’t alone. There’s this other guy walking alongside him, and they’re smiling, both of them. Something about it causes a weight to fall onto Eliott’s chest. It’s an ugly sort of feeling, Eliott recognises, one he hasn’t really felt before, one that when it hits him — it does so violently.

He watches as the guy says something to Lucas, how Lucas smiles, blushes a bit, maybe. Eliott can’t tell, with the distance. Either way, he can’t take it any longer.

“Lucas!” he calls out, hating how much his voice curls over the word a little desperately. Lucas turns, their eyes meet. And Lucas’ smile, well, it was there before, but now — now it’s dazzling. That thing in Eliott’s chest flails.

As Lucas makes his way over to Eliott it’s like waiting for the sun to rise, when it gets there the day is all bright and warm and soft shades of blue. That’s only to be expected, though, from someone as ethereal as Lucas is.

What Eliott isn’t expecting, however, at all, and looking back on it, maybe he should have noticed that there was something different about the way Lucas walked up to him, the way Lucas looked at him. But Eliott doesn’t, and so when Lucas stops across from him, then leans up to press his lips against Eliott’s, the world stops completely.

The kiss is transient, barely there. Lucas goes to pull away instantly but Eliott, he can’t, somehow, control how he wraps an arm around Lucas’ neck to pull him back in and kiss him deeper. Lucas’ lips are soft, warm as they part ever so slightly against Eliott’s. But that’s as much as he lets it progress, soon enough he’s pulling away again.

Eliott blinks at him, tries to find his voice within the turmoil in his brain. 

“Oh hi,” he breathes out, startled, feels how warm his cheeks have gotten, hopes that Lucas doesn’t notice.

“Hi,” Lucas says back.

Eliott wants to kiss him again, and it’s cute, how Lucas smiles sheepishly and looks to the ground. Eliott wants to ask, suddenly, _what was that for, _but doesn’t. Lucas looks a little bit like he regrets it, like he doesn’t know why he did it in the first place. Eliott is confused, mostly, but he doesn’t dwell on it too much, on the twisting in his stomach, the small sliver of satisfaction that tugs at his chest when he sees the guy Lucas had been with walk away with his shoulders hung low.

He hates himself for thinking it almost instantly, because Lucas isn’t even his, not really, not at all. He lets out a light chuckle, says, holding out the coffee, “I got this for you,” and then, because he doesn’t really know what else to do, the bag of pastries, “And these. I figured you haven’t eaten yet today.”

Lucas squints at him. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“And what if I’ve already eaten?”

“You haven’t.”

“How do you know?”

Eliott looks to the side, lips pursed into a small smile. “Because I know you,” he says. Lucas doesn’t argue with it.

On the walk home, Eliott decides to ask about it, because it’s been eating away at him, slowly.

The thing is — Eliott has thought about it, the possibility of Lucas meeting someone in-between all of this, wanting to hook up with someone. And Eliott feels bad, he does, the thought tortures him, flits between, _you’re holding him back, _and, _he’s only doing this because he feels like he has to. _And deep down, Eliott knows he could have gotten back together with Marco by now, but there’s this part of him that wants to cling onto whatever last fragments of this thing with Lucas for as long as he can, and it’s — well, it’s selfish, is what it is.

So when Eliott asks, it’s partially for his own peace of mind, mostly because if Lucas secretly wants an out then Eliott doesn’t want to be the one to hold him back just because he caught feelings and doesn’t know how to handle himself.

“Who was that guy back there, outside the lecture theatre?” He aims for casual, thinks even if his voice comes out a little shaky Lucas doesn’t seem to notice.

There’s a brief silence, they come to a stop just outside Lucas’ apartment building. “Oh. Julien? He’s just in my class.”

“Just?”

Lucas frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, like, is there something between you two?” There’s a voice screaming at Eliott, tells him that he's being too obvious, caring too much. He ignores it. “He looked pretty bummed out when you came over to me.”

Eliott doesn’t know what he’d expected, really, and he certainly doesn’t have the right to be so disappointed when Lucas sighs, says, weakly, “No,” but then, shaking his head, “Well, I mean, I don’t know,” and again but quieter, “I don’t know. Why?” 

_What do you mean you don’t know, _Eliott wants to ask. _Do you like him? Do you want to date him? What does he have that I don’t? _These things are just some of the things Eliott thinks but doesn’t say.

Instead he sighs. “Just—” He looks away, then back again, tries to swallow down the ache in his chest. “You’ll tell me if you want to stop this thing we’re doing won’t you?” he says, “I keep thinking about how shit this must be for you, not being able to see other people. Like, what if I’m stopping you from meeting someone really good, your soulmate, or whatever, because you’re stuck in this with me. I could be fucking your entire life up and we don’t even know it.”

The words sort of spiral out, and Lucas just looks at him, blinking, before he smiles, a bit sadly, says, “Soulmates don’t exist,” and then, “you’re not fucking anything up.”

Eliott laughs lightly, there isn’t much humour behind it. “Of course they do,” he argues, They’ve had this argument before. “I’ve met mine.”

_You_, he wants to tell Lucas, _it’s you. _

Lucas rolls his eyes, teasing. Light catches onto his eyelashes, and he smiles, prettily, Eliott’s knees almost cave in. 

“I’ll call you later, okay?” Lucas says, walking backwards towards the building. 

Eliott nods, mumbles, “Okay,” watches as he backs away until he’s gone.

He doesn’t invite Eliott in.

  
  


*

It starts off as a few misplaced brush strokes.

There’s some paint left over from the storyboard Eliott had been working on for class, and so he digs out the canvas from under his bed and he paints.

It’s quite directionless at first, it’s been awhile since Eliott painted something, too caught up in the demand of his film course amongst other things. But this, it’s nice, relaxing.

Outside the sun is setting, deep shades of orange and gold spread across the Paris skyline. The light of it projects over Eliott’s canvas, he colours it blue, three different shades. He paints until there is no white left and the blue is drowning, _devouring _.

The blue, Eliott decides, looks a lot like the blue of Lucas’ eyes when they hit off the sun, a gold blue. The thought is transient but intense. Eliott tries to fight it off, quickly dips his brush into pink, and then purple and yellow and white, places them onto the canvas with little thought, precision uncoordinated. It looks a bit like a sea at sunset, Eliott decides when he’s finished. He hadn’t meant for it to be that, hadn’t meant for it to be anything, really, but there it is, and it doesn’t entirely suck. So that’s something.

— This was two weeks ago. Eliott, since, has given up trying to steer his artwork away from things that remind him of Lucas. It’s no use, when he’s all Eliott really thinks about, when he’s the reason Eliott picks up his paintbrush in the first place.

Because since, Eliott has managed to, somehow, miraculously fuck up even more. Since, Eliott has brought it up, the thing with Lucas. And Lucas had just looked at him for a few moments as though he had no idea what Eliott was talking about, like he had, in fact, forgotten about the times they’ve ended up in bed together. But, with some more prompting, Lucas had admitted, _I thought you didn’t remember _, to which Eliott had to go and dig a deeper grave for himself by asking, _is it going to keep happening? _Lucas, when he mumbles, _it doesn’t have to mean anything, right? If it does happen again, _seemed to have a composure that Eliott could only envy, with how rapidly his heart had been beating.

The words had hurt unlike anything, and they shouldn’t have, really, because Eliott knew that already, he _should _have known. Of course the kisses and the touching and the sleeping together don't mean anything for Lucas other than an easy release, because he isn’t in love with Eliott. So it shouldn’t shock him, but it does, and Eliott doesn’t want it to be casual, he doesn’t, but he also doesn’t want to lose Lucas, and he doesn’t want to make things weird, so he goes along with it. He says, _okay, that’s good then, _and he’s been trying to convince himself of this ever since, that things are okay.

They aren’t, really, Eliott doesn’t think. But he’s trying to make them be, and it’s good, sleeping with Lucas, when it happens again, several times after nights out with the guys. So it will be fine, it will, Eliott just needs some time to untangle his unruly thoughts.

And so, one evening, when he’s walking home from work, Eliott stops off at the art supply store and he buys a new sketchbook. When he gets home, he perches himself on the window seat in his bedroom with the sketchbook and a pencil. The light of the moon is obscured by an angry cloud, foggy, forecast of rainfall.

When the rain comes it does so relentlessly, rattling off Eliott’s window in a calming sort of way.

Eliott, opening to the first page of the book, writes there, _for Lucas, _and, with his pencil newly sharpened and an image in his head that’s as vivid as the real thing, off he goes.

  
  
  


*

  
  


Things are watery, now.

Eliott lets the days push him along like a tide, but he doesn’t necessarily know in which direction it’s taking him. Things with Lucas and with life are watery like watercolour paints are; the transparency of Eliott’s feelings, the tearing of paper when he tries to build up the colour, cover over how much his heart aches, the stain it leaves on his desk, a stubborn smudge that won’t go away no matter how much he scrubs at it. 

But somehow Eliott survives, even finds himself enjoying moments with Lucas like they might be something they aren’t.

They don’t talk about Marco anymore. Eliott doesn’t even think about him, either, forgets, even, sometimes that he’s the reason they’re in this position in the first place. But it’s fine, and Eliott is fine, and things with Lucas may be uncertain but they work. And he’s here, now, sitting next to Eliott on the sofa as they watch _10 Things I Hate About You. _

He’s too far away, Lucas is. Which is only Eliott’s fault, since he had shoved him over jokingly but Lucas had stayed. Eliott looks over to him, finds that he isn’t looking at the tv at all but the blank wall above it. 

Eliott sighs.

“You’re not paying attention.”

Lucas frowns. “I was,” he insists, pointing in the vague direction of the television, “I was watching.”

“You were watching, sure,” Eliott says, “but you weren’t paying attention.”

Lucas huffs, looking away. “I was just thinking.” He seems distracted, picking at a thin thread on his joggers. Eliott follows the movement, how Lucas shifts, slightly, and, _oh. _

Jesus. Eliott tries to swallow down the gasp that catches in his throat when he sees that Lucas is, in fact, a lot more distracted than Eliott initially thought. He smirks, lightly, asks, “About what?”

Lucas tries to brush it off, mumbles something flippant about work and stress that Eliott knows isn’t true.

“Oh,” Eliott breathes, letting his gaze flit downwards again, this time Lucas catches him. “Is that all?”

A light blush creeps up Lucas’ neck, spreads across his cheeks like a forest fire. And he’s beautiful, he is, sitting here in sweats that fit in all the right places as well as all of the wrong ones, his face lit up by the glow of the television, his cheeks stained a pretty pink. It takes everything in Eliott not to reach across and pull him into his lap. They don’t do that, see, not when they’re sober, when there’s nothing else to blame it on, excuse it by.

Eliott’s fists clench around his thighs.

“What?” Lucas blinks at him, mouth slightly agape.

“Nothing, just — just, it looks a little like you were thinking of more than work, or, I might be wrong. I don’t know.” Eliott bites onto his bottom lip to try and stop himself from saying anything more, making it too obvious. He thinks Lucas can tell anyway, where this might lead if they aren’t careful. Thing is, Eliott doesn’t care, he’s already let the lines blur too much already, and Lucas is too distracting, too enamouring. 

Eliott exhales sharply. Lucas stands abruptly.

“I should go.”

Eliott blinks and Lucas is already in the hallway, fumbling with his shoes and his coat. Something in Eliott’s chest twists, _god, _he panics, chases after Lucas, thinks, _you’ve scared him off, you’re being too obvious. _

“Lucas wait,” he tries to catch his attention, reaches out to hold Lucas’ arm. “What do you mean you should go?”

“It’s — it’s late.”

Unease blossoms from within Eliott; as sharp as the way his hand falls from Lucas’ arm, how it quivers at his side. And Lucas’ face, it’s unreadable in a way that evokes a bottomless feeling in Eliott’s chest, a tunnel caved by dread, down to his stomach, lingering there like weeds. _He knows, _Eliott thinks alarmingly, _he knows. _

“Did I say something?” Eliott rushes out, eyes wide. “Fuck, if I made you feel uncomfortable, I’m sorry. Shit. I just, I thought—”

Lucas kisses him quiet, hard. It catches Eliott completely off guard, knocks him out breathless, whatever words that had been spilling out of him lost in the desperate drag of Lucas’ lips, his tongue. And it’s hurried, a bit obscene. Eliott exhales, hands fitting into the curves of Lucas’ hips to press him against the wall, then tilting his head to kiss him deeper, slower, _tender _.

It’s hot, intoxicatingly so, Lucas’ lips taste sweet, warm. And he pliantly lets Eliott’s tongue explore his mouth, sedately like they have all the time in the world. They don’t, really, and Eliott knows this, knows that something as watery as this can only last so long. But like this, Lucas moaning softly against him, pressing down into his thigh, asking Eliott if they can move to the bed, it’s easier to pretend that they do.

As Eliott presses Lucas into the mattress, taking him apart, slowly, he thinks about how dangerous this is, how completely sober they both are, how maybe this time it won’t be as simple as laughing it off the next morning. Eliott doesn’t care. It feels good, and it feels nice, Lucas under him like this, kissing Eliott like it means something. He kisses down Lucas’ spine, lets things unfurl unhurriedly, tries to savour it, this, Lucas — who squirms, huffs out, “God, Eliott, will you just touch me, _please _.”

Eliott laughs, lightly, does exactly that until Lucas’ thighs are shaking beneath his hands and his name falls like a sin from Lucas’ tongue.

Afterwards, when they both fall next to each other, their breaths the only sounds in the still of the room, Eliott pulls Lucas into another kiss. Lucas kisses back lazily, sleepily. His fingertips are a firm pressure against Eliott’s upper arm, sliding over warm skin, little flames set alight in his wake. They kiss until the moon draws in, until their lips numb to the feeling, until all they’re really doing is breathing each other in.

Lucas falls asleep in Eliott's arms. And Eliott, for a brief moment, as his eyes shut to the beautiful picture of him, pressed into Eliott’s chest, lets himself think about the sheer possibility of this maybe meaning the same for Lucas as it does for him.

The thought, it’s quick, Eliott blinks and it’s gone, but it still leaves a stain, written in cursive behind his eyelids, it says, _maybe. _

  
  
  


*

The mood on campus is sombre, a bit gloomy. Maybe it has something to do with the dullness of the sky, or maybe it’s just Eliott projecting.

He’s sitting at one of the picnic benches, his sketchbook laid open in front of him. The pages flicker in the slight breeze, vague pieces of Lucas along with it. His progress has been steady, recently, inspiration striking whenever Lucas is around, which tends to be a lot these days. Nearly half of the book is filled, now, pages ranging from rough sketches of just Lucas, to doodles of racoons and hedgehogs because Eliott is still stuck on the sentiment, to more abstract pieces of colours that remind Eliott of things that are them: the blue of Lucas’ eyes, the green of Eliott’s, the mismatched patterns of their socks when their feet overlap on the coffee table.

Those are the less obvious, though. The ones that are more blatant — the expanse of Lucas’ exposed chest as he sleeps next to Eliott in the morning sun, a sketch of the way their hands seem to fit together almost perfectly — are the intimate ones that make Eliott fear that giving Lucas this is the careless equivalent to dumping his entire heart’s contents onto a page for Lucas to see.

So Eliott doesn’t know. Isn’t sure if this book will make it past his own eyes, if he wants to expose himself to that level of vulnerability when he’s still so unsure of Lucas’ own feelings.

Eliott stares down at one of the sketches, a bit lost, a dull ache in his chest, then —

“Hey.”

Eliott startles, snapping the sketchbook shut abruptly.

Camille is looking down at him, she sends him a weird look. “What’s up with you? Reading porn on campus, or what?”

Eliott huffs. “_ No _, I — it’s. It’s nothing.”

Soon enough Camille is sitting across from him, her chin resting on her palm. “Nothing,” she repeats, “It didn’t look like nothing.”

“It’s just something I’ve been working on,” Eliott mumbles, fingers curling over the corners of the book.

“Can I see?”

Eliott hesitates.

“Only if you want,” Camille's voice comes again, soft, kind. Eliott sighs, passes the book over.

She accepts it carefully, flicking through some of the pages slowly, before letting out a small breath. “Shit, Eliott, These are amazing,” she says. “It’s Lucas, right?”

Eliott hums, hopes Camille can’t see how hard he’s blushing, with the page she lingers on. “It’s supposed to be a present, for him. Although I haven’t decided whether I’m actually going to give it to him or not.”

Camille lets out a surprised laugh, her hair dancing in the wind. “Why wouldn’t you give it to him?”

Eliott purses his lips. The thing is, see, things with Lucas are weird, currently — well, they’re amazing, too, don’t get Eliott wrong, but there’s still an oddity there that Eliott can only pin down to his own feelings wedging things apart. There’s this knot, deep in Eliott's chest, that’s made up of all the things that connect to Lucas. It gets messy, in there — Eliott would know, he feels every bit of it, the tugs when it tightens and the loose ends that unravel. It’s been weighing him down more and more with each day that ebbs by, a heaviness that presses and taunts and scorns him, for how obvious he’s been acting with his feelings lately. Eliott can’t help it. And he can’t help this, either, how he looks at Camille over the picnic bench and all of a sudden has the desperation tell her everything. Eliott’s kind of been spiralling, lately, and the constant need to take someone by the shoulders and tell them that he hasn’t been able to breathe properly in months now is extreme.

“Can I tell you something?” He blurts out, her previous question left unanswered.

She sits up a bit straighter. “Of course.”

“You have to promise not to tell anyone,” Eliott says.

“You’re scaring me,” Camille laughs warily, “but yeah, I promise.”

Exhaling steadily, Eliott looks away, tries to work up the courage to say the words. His eyes catch onto a couple sitting a few benches over, two guys who sit close, legs tangled under the table, smiling into each other’s mouths like it’s the easiest thing in the world and it’s just — Eliott wants that, _he does _. He wants it so bad it hurts.

“Lucas and I aren’t actually together. We were just pretending to make Marco jealous, so that he’d want me back.”

Camille blinks at him, her eyebrows pulled down into a frown. There’s a strange silence, one Eliott thinks might never end, one that results in her getting up and leaving. Eliott wouldn’t even blame her, he’d be mad, too, maybe, if it were him. Although, Camille, with her endlessly lovely nature — constant since the day Eliott met her on the first day of class, how she had noticed immediately how nervous Eliott had been and taken him under her wing — could have no other reaction but to look at Eliott sadly, then, looking back down to the sketchbook, still open at a page of Lucas’ side profile, sunlight on his skin, say, “But you love him.”

Eliott swallows, thinks, _is it really that obvious? _He guesses it is, then, he’s always been terrible at hiding things. “Yeah, I — I love him so much. I don’t know what to do.”

Slowly, Camille shuts the book. Her eyes are kind, a rich brown that feels warm despite the cold that wraps around them.

“Oh Eliott,” she sighs, “why don’t you tell him?”

“I’m just — I’m scared, Cam, I’m so scared of losing him.” It’s the first time Eliott has said it out loud, the confession is harsh, causes this stubborn lump to form in his throat. He tries to swallow it down, only half succeeding, spluttering slightly.

“I think,” Camille starts, sliding the sketchbook back over the table, “that if you give him this, then you won’t need to say it at all. He’ll know, I’m sure he will, and if he’s anything like you say he is, then he’ll treat your feelings kindly, no matter how he feels himself. And I also think that’s something you need to do, for yourself, because holding in feelings like that, like love, it’s so painful Eliott, it is, I know it is.” She shakes her head, something in the movement tells Eliott she wants to say more, instead she holds back, sighs, reaches a hand out to squeeze Eliott’s forearm. “You’ll be okay, Eliott. If Lucas doesn’t love you back he’s an idiot.”

At this Eliott huffs out a laugh. “Don’t say that.”

“Sorry,” Camille rolls her eyes, “he isn’t an idiot, he's wonderful, jesus, I forgot how defensive you get over him.”

Eliott kicks her lightly under the table, and they laugh, and the knot in Eliott’s chest, it untangles, just a little.

“Sorry I lied to you,” Eliott tells her then, fingers toying with the sleeve of his hoodie, “to everyone.”

Camille shakes her head. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, people do stupid things when they’re in love. You’ll learn from it.”

“Yeah,” Eliott breathes, thinks that he can name more than one stupid thing he’s done these past few months, that maybe they weren’t at all stupid but instead his heart guiding him to what lives deep inside the wreckage of that knot; to what, _who _, he truly wants. “Thank you.”

  
  
  


*

  
  


The lines, somehow, blur even more.

There are days when Eliott forgets, actually, that Lucas isn’t his boyfriend. Which is a bit careless, Eliott knows, but sometimes, seldom, it feels like Lucas forgets, too.

They hang out a lot, which isn’t inordinary, but after that night, sober hookups have become a regularity, and Eliott kind of misses the moment in which things shift and kissing becomes a thing they do just because they feel like it, and not because there’s an intent for it to lead to something else.

Now, Eliott has a drawer of clothes at Lucas’ place, and Lucas sometimes leaves his uni work scattered all over Eliott’s bedroom floor when he goes to work because they both know he’ll be straight back afterwards anyway.

And then, how Lucas comes over one evening, his hair damp and his clothes smelling of rain, a broken look on his face that causes Eliott’s entire chest to cave in. A look that makes him say and do stupid things like hug Lucas while he sobs into Eliott’s t-shirt and call him love and hold him under the duvet while he presses kisses to his head and his lips and whispers soft words of encouagement to ease the sadness in his eyes.

It’s what makes Eliott do all of these things, all of these lovely things that make Lucas look at him like nothing else matters, only for Eliott to strip it all down by saying something detrimentally stupid like, _that’s what best friends are for, _and then miss the way Lucas’ face falls.  
  
  


*

  
  


Loving Lucas is like walking along an old pavement while trying to avoid all of the cracks. It’s hard not to slip up and trample over all of those fragile parts, the parts of Eliott that love too profoundly, care too deeply. But he’s also coming to realise that perhaps that isn’t such a bad thing, to love until it consumes you. Because Eliott has never felt this way about anyone, has never watched someone enter a room and feel his entire heart set on fire.

But Lucas does that, lights Eliott up in ways that are unfathomable. And that feels good, the warmth that induces within him.

It takes Eliott three days to convince their landlord to let him gain access to the roof of their building, another two to accumulate all of the supplies he needs to make the place look perfect.

Lucas’ eyes are a coruscating blue, and stars are always sparse in Paris, their light too frail against the glare of the city, but here, fairly lights reflect off Lucas’ eyes like stars against the midnight ocean and it’s stunning, _breathtaking _.

Handing the sketchbook over to Lucas feels a lot like jumping head first into the sea. Inside of this, see, is fragments of Eliott picked straight from the flowerbed at the bottom of his chest, wildflowers that have been curled around his ribs for months now, all bound together by a worn spine, the eclipsed parts of Eliott’s heart that he’s been trying to conceal for so long. That’s all gone now, though, Eliott realises, as he thinks of Camille’s words, as Lucas silently flicks through the pages as though wading through the contents of Eliott’s mind.

“Eliott,” Lucas breathes out after a while, a tear slipping down his cheek and landing on the page he’s paused at, one of the beach they went to last summer. He doesn’t speak further, only looks at Eliott with this intense look in his eyes that Eliott wants to engrave within his own memory forever.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Eliott tells him, thinks, _there’s nothing to say that we aren’t already thinking, right? _He hopes that he’s right.

This seems to be enough, and like stars, caressing, comforting, _constant _, Eliott pulls Lucas into his chest. And he holds him there in hope that everything he’s too afraid to say will etch itself into the sky, a gentle reminder that love, whilst terrifying, is beautiful, still.

  
  
  


*

  
  


Eliott is woken from his nap by Idriss banging in his bedroom door.

“Lucas is downstairs,” he says, “I’m going for dinner with my parents, I’ll probably not get back until late.”

Eliott blinks at him, sleepily, then ignores the exaggerated wink Idriss sends him before his mind wakes up suddenly and he thinks, _Lucas is here. _

When Eliott opens the front door to find Lucas standing there, wind in his hair and a soft smile on his face, Eliott can’t help but tug him by the shirt into his room and press him into his bedsheets, still warm and messy from Eliott’s nap.

“What are you doing?” Lucas giggles, head settling into the pillows.

Eliott hovers over him, grinning. “Kissing you,” he murmurs back, lips brushing against Lucas’, “is that okay?”

Lucas only hums, tilts his head to capture Eliott’s lips with his own.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Eliott lets slip after a while, feels so compelled by the spell that is Lucas’ lips and his hands that the words leave Eliott automatically.

“Oh?”

Eliott only kisses him in response, a gasp slipping between them when Lucas licks desperately into his mouth.

The thing is this — Eliott has been thinking a lot, about a lot of things: Camille's words, Lucas’ eyes when Eliott gave him the sketchbook, the way he kisses Eliott now for nobody but themselves. 

“I want to try something,” he says into Lucas’ lips, because, see, something has shifted, Eliott has felt it like a tide, the pull and tug of it. And he’s been thinking, a lot, about what that might mean, for him, and for Lucas, if Eliott were to tell him that he’s in love with him, that he doesn’t want to pretend anymore.

And he also thinks, hopelessly, that maybe Lucas feels it too, if the way he puts all of his trust into Eliott by saying, “okay,” and, “you do make me feel good,” then lets Eliott take him apart in ways they’ve never dared to before, says anything.

Eliott rocks into Lucas, slowly, deeply, tries to make it feel as good as possible, tries to engrave how much it means for him into Lucas’ skin, his lips, his thumping heart. And after, as they come down, Eliott thinks about saying it. He almost does, too, into the warm skin behind Lucas’ ear. But Lucas is exhausted, Eliott quickly realises, he mumbles something, muffled against the pillow.

“I have to—“ he whimpers tiredly, “—have to tell you something.”

Something in Eliott’s chest flutters, rapid, and he wants to yell, _what, what is it? Tell me. _But he holds back, thinks that whatever it is, whatever he hopes it is, that now, when emotions and adrenaline are still high, when sleep lingers too near, maybe isn’t the best time.

So. Eliott sighs, murmurs, “You’re tired, love. We should sleep.”

Lucas tries to protest, but Eliott hushes him, kisses his forehead, his lips, his cheek, tells him, “It’s okay,” and, “tell me in the morning,” like a promise, and Lucas nods, presses himself closer into Eliott’s chest. 

And like that, entangled, the soft pounding of their hearts lulls them both to sleep.

  
  


*

  
  


The next morning goes like this — Eliott wakes and Lucas is gone, and for a moment Eliott panics, thinks that maybe he’s run off, that Eliott has scared him away with the way he acted last night.

But upon checking his phone, Eliott realises that, _right, _it’s Saturday, Lucas most likely has work, it’s fine. So he doesn’t let himself worry about it too much, instead gets up and busies himself by working on a paper he has due soon, goes to collect some laundry, cooks pasta for him and Idriss. And it is fine, because by five o’clock he gets a text from Lucas saying, _I’m coming over, we need to talk. _

For the next ten minutes Eliott paces the length of the living room with his fingers tugging at his bottom lip. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it until Sofiane kicks him in the ankle lightly as he passes, says, “You need to chill, Eliott, seriously, it’s going to be fine.”

And all Eliott can really do is hope that it will be. He reckons there’s a good chance, with the way last night had ended, but then again, you can’t be too sure, Eliott is just too used to being wary over these kinds of things.

When the door rings from downstairs, Eliott’s breath shudders. He goes into the hallway, buzzes Lucas up without even checking to see if it’s actually him, and then waits at the door until there’s a firm knock on the other end. When Eliott opens the door, his heart high in his throat it’s — well, it isn’t Lucas, not at all. It’s Marco.

“Hey, Eliott,” he says, his feet scuffing awkwardly on the carpet.

Eliott blinks. “What are you doing here?”

It’s quite unusual, you see, because they don’t talk anymore, Marco and him. It’s been weeks, ages since they last saw each other, and Eliott has moved on, clearly, knows now that whatever they had wasn’t good for him. And he had thought, too, by the way Marco had stopped pestering him with those drunken texts, that he had moved on too.

But here he is, standing in Eliott’s doorway, and he’s saying, “I wanted to say sorry, Eliott. For everything. I just — I miss you, and I — I need to know what I can do to get you back. Please. I’ll do anything.”

Months ago, Eliott would have fallen for that, probably. Would have said something dumb like, _you don’t need to do anything, I miss you too. _

Though, things are different now.

“Look—” he sighs, shakes his head. He notices a new tattoo on Marco’s wrist, unfamiliar like they are for one another now. “I appreciate it, I do. But I’ve moved on, and I’m happy now, really happy.”

Marco frowns. “With Lucas, right?” There’s a subtle scoff in his tone, one that tells Eliott maybe there’s nothing about him that’s changed at all.

“Yeah. With Lucas.”

Marco only looks at him.

“—look,” Eliott’s hand grips tighter onto the door handle, “he’ll be here soon, actually, so.” _Can you leave _, goes unsaid but the words still sit there, a bit too obvious.

“Right,” Marco looks away, hard lines formed onto his forehead.

Eliott shuts the door before anything else can be said.

  
  


*

Lucas never shows up that evening.

Eliott waits, and he waits and waits and waits. Yet, nothing. No doorbells ring, no texts come, nor calls.

Eliott tries to call, when it’s late and Idriss tells him maybe something just came up, but it goes straight to voicemail. He tries not to let it hurt too much, but he fails at that. And he tells himself he won’t call again, that it’s Lucas who should be calling him, but he fails at that too, twice.

After that, though, he does give up, thinks that if whatever Lucas wanted to talk about was important enough he would have come, he would have called. 

But as it is, he doesn’t, and so, clearly, it is not.

  
  


*

  
  


In the days that follow, Lucas still doesn’t call. He doesn’t text, either. Eliott tries not to let it sting too much but it does, and he tries not to count in his head the days that go by where they don’t talk, but he does that too, anyway, like a tally, taunting him.

It’s his own fault, though, really, for letting himself swim too deep, for allowing things to get out of hand, to get weird. It's his own fault for having too much hope.

And so, in knowing this, Eliott takes all of his feelings, gathers them all up, the ones that make too much sound, and he buries them down, deep where no one will hear them. It’s for the best, he decides, Lucas was never meant to be his in the first place.

  
  
  


*

It hits Eliott like a truck when he sees Lucas for the first time since that night.

He’s just leaving class, Camille, Elias and Alex by his side when there’s a nudge at his hip, and Camille is nodding towards the opposite path, and there he is, standing in that stupid worn grey hoodie that he’s always in, his hair flat against his forehead, staring right at Eliott and it hurts, like nothing has ever felt before, it hurts seeing him here and Eliott doesn’t know why.

Maybe it’s the knowledge, Eliott thinks, as he excuses himself from his friends to cut across the grass and walk towards Lucas, that there could never be anything between them, now. Because before it had been an uncertainty, there had been a tiny sliver of hope there, one that would strengthen every time Lucas kissed him for nobody to see, when he would look at Eliott with this enamoured look in his eyes that Eliott had convinced himself meant something that it actually didn’t.

That look is gone now, Eliott realises, when he eventually stops opposite Lucas, a safe four or so feet between them. In its place now is a cold, hard, stony blue. He looks exhausted, a bit frayed around the edges. The skin under his eyes is stained a deep purple, like a bruise. Eliott wants to reach out, trace his thumb along the skin and soften its sharp edges, he huffs out a sigh, says, “hey,” and fists his hands so hard at his sides it’s sure to draw blood.

Lucas coughs. “Hi,” he says, “how are you?”

“Okay,” Eliott responds, and then, thinks, _god, no, I’m everything but that. _“I mean —” _This all feels so wrong, why do you look so tired, _he wants to say, _have you not been sleeping again? Is it school? Is it rent? Your mother? Me? _Suddenly it all feels like too much, the realisation that something has caused this wedge between them, and it’s awkward, it is, Eliott can’t stand it. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out, “about everything.”

Lucas frowns, shakes his head lightly. “Why are you sorry? It’s why we did what we did in the first place, was it not? So that you could get back with him.”

Something twists in Eliott’s chest, confusion, hurt, maybe. He blinks at Lucas for a few moments, thinks, _what are you talking about? _“I — you.” Then he snaps his mouth shut, thinks, _he thinks I’ve gotten back together with Marco. _Eliott doesn’t know what to do with the information, at all. He should correct Lucas, he should, he should. He doesn’t. “Yeah. I guess.”

Lucas smiles. “I’m happy for you then.”

Eliott doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it just feels like the easiest thing to do, the most painless way to let his own heart down. Maybe it’s because Eliott looks at Lucas and he thinks of Julien, how Lucas deserves someone like that, someone who won’t lie to him and use him only for it all to be for nothing. Lucas doesn’t deserve to be held back by Eliott, not anymore than he already has — that’s unfair, incredibly so, especially if he likes Julien even just a little bit.

So Eliott goes along with it. Says, “Yeah. Thanks.” And tries not to cry when Lucas says he has to get to class.

He watches as Lucas walks away, and he feels it all as it happens, the sinking in his chest, how it collapses. And then Eliott’s heart, worn out and stretched thin, and his lungs, how they start to cave in. He feels every last tug of it, until he can’t breathe, until Lucas is gone and there is nothing Eliott can do but let him go.

  
  
  


*

Days start to slip away from Eliott. It happens sort of half-toned, one night he goes to sleep with this heavy feeling in his chest, the next morning he wakes and it’s still there. He forces himself to get up and to shower, anyway, but he only gets as far as that before he’s huffing and crawling back into bed. From there another day slips through his fingers, and then another night, and another day, until the only way he’s able to distinguish between the two is from the vague noises coming from the rest of the apartment.

Idriss and Sofiane are worried, Eliott doesn’t mean for it to happen, but it does, and he doesn’t mean for the way he snaps at them for piling into his room and trying to throw him some sort of pity party, or whatever, but that happens, too.

And still, Lucas doesn’t text him, after a while Eliott stops checking. His phone dies on the nightstand, forgotten along with the flood of a thousand other things that he’s trying to push away. 

And it’s — it’s not like Eliott feels like this _because _of Lucas, it’s just something that happens, and so he deals with it. If he happens to think of Lucas more in the space of a week than he has probably the entire time they’ve known each other, well, that’s his own doing, really, for being so obvious that Lucas caught on, for scaring him away. He probably doesn’t want anything to do with Eliott now, which — it’s fine. It’s fair. Doesn’t make it hurt any less, though, although that’s just what you get, Eliott reckons, for unravelling a tangle of threads that should have been left alone in the first place.

Maybe Eliott is no good for Lucas, anyway, maybe it’s better this way, maybe.

  
  


*

  
  


Between hours that are foggy, Eliott wakes to grey.

A faint hue of sunlight seeps in through his pulled curtains, but it isn’t enough to surpass the shadows that pour from the corners of Eliott’s bedroom. They curl over him, fall under his skin and then tangle into his ribcage, leaves behind a tightness that’s heavy and hard to shake off.

Eliott turns, his arm numb from lying in the same position for too long, and there, on the nightstand, is a paper cup. Eliott frowns at it, sits up, takes it in his hand, and there, on the side in messy cursive, _I'm always here for you, always. _The handwriting is too familiar, the pain in Eliott’s chest too sharp, to be able to do anything but fall back into his duvet and sob until the ache numbs and the tug of the moon sedates him once more.

  
  


*

  
  


Eliott doesn’t want to be here, he really doesn’t. But Idriss said he was starting to mould himself into his mattress, and Sofiane kept arguing that it would be good for him to let off some steam and have a good time. The texts Camille had been sending him had been encouraging and overwhelming all the same, and so Eliott had come, sullenly.

He doesn’t drink, because he still doesn’t feel quite right, and he doesn’t dance either because he still feels too sad. The lights are too bright against his eyes, each room a different block of colour, each one representing one of Eliott's pathetic moods.

The blue is sombre, reminds Eliott of how hollow his chest feels, looks too much like Lucas’ eyes do in the winter. He spends just seconds in that one before it’s too much. The red is harsh, like a hostile reminder of how love aches like anger. The purple in the living room is just a miserable reminder of the courage Eliott doesn’t have, so he leaves there, too. Green is forgivable, bearable at most, Eliott doesn’t really feel anything in there, his back pressed up against the hallway wall as he listens to Alex and Elias argue over who gets to introduce themselves to the cute boy who just walked past first.

It’s there that Eliott spots Yann, waiting by the bathroom door, he sends Eliott a weird look, one that’s some parts sad, other parts angry. Eliott doesn’t understand it at all. He forces his gaze away, tries not to think about that if Yann is here then there’s a high chance that Lucas will be, too.

After a while Eliott excuses himself from his friends to go and get a glass of water, a furtive minute. The crowd has almost doubled by now, coordination mostly a distant thing, which is annoying, Eliott is having enough trouble forcing himself to stay here as it is. But he perseveres, if not for anyone but himself and the fact that hiding away in his bedroom hasn’t been doing much good for his head lately.

It’s as he’s approaching the kitchen that he glances inside and sees Lucas. The sight catches Eliott off guard in a way that it definitely shouldn’t. Still, it does. And Lucas looks beautiful, of course he does, that scorching red colour falling over his skin in a way that’s warm and effortless. Eliott’s breath catches in his throat, his hands fist at his sides. But there’s something else, too, there’s Julien, suddenly, stepping into view from behind the wall and he’s cupping Lucas’ cheeks in the way that Eliott used to.

Something in Eliott’s chest snaps.

And it’s — look, Eliott can deal with rejection, he can, Lucas’ silence has said far more than it needed to. But it doesn’t lessen how much it burns, when Julien leans into Lucas, when their eyes meet over his shoulder and all Lucas does is blink at Eliott as though he doesn’t even know him. It’s like something deep inside Eliott’s chest capsizes, then, pours into his blood like poison, hot and sore and it _burns. _

And it’s also not like Eliott didn’t already know that there was maybe something between them, he’s had an inkling for a while. But seeing it, just, when his heart still hurts the way it does, well, it’s — _it’s too much, _and Eliott _can’t. _He can’t watch any longer. He turns and leaves, elbowing his way through the stubborn crowds until he’s running out the front door.

Outside, the air is cold, Eliott doesn’t really feel it much, but he shoves his hood up anyway, thinks it will at least cover up the way he wipes away the tears that fall down his cheeks without any warning.

Eliott is two streets away when he hears the first call. It’s loud, cutting against the harsh wind but he ignores it.

Then, again — 

“Eliott!” And again, again, again.

Eliott stops, turns to see Lucas jogging up to him, his hair damp and flat over his forehead.

“Why did you leave?” he’s panting, Eliott can’t look at him, not when he looks like that, stubbornly beautiful under the silvery glow of the streetlights.

“I don’t know.”

“_ You do know, _” Lucas insists, stepping closer. “Hey, look at me. _Please _.”

Eliott huffs, thinks, angrily, _we both know _. “What do you want me to say, Lucas?”

Thinks again, _is it not obvious, _that it’s extremely unfair for Lucas to make him say it when he knows, when it’s the reason he stopped talking to Eliott in the first place.

“I want you to tell me exactly what you’re thinking. Not what you think I want, or need, to hear,” Lucas says, and then softly, “I want you to be honest with me.”

And so Eliott does. He tells Lucas about his fears about Julien, tries to stop himself from crying when Lucas shuts them down, every last one. Then in return Eliott shuts down Lucas’ about Marco. And when Lucas tells him that the reason he didn’t show up that evening is because he had bumped into Marco on the street outside who told him that they were getting back together, well, it’s hilariously tragic, it is.

_He’s such a fucking asshole, _Eliott thinks, Marco is, then lets it slip incidentally.

And then, when they’ve said all they’ve needed to say, when not all but most things make sense, Lucas says, “I should have told you when I had the chance, then maybe none of this shit would have happened.” 

Something in Eliott’s chest shifts, like a cloud detaching from the sun.

“Told me what?” he asks, a bit terrified.

“That I never wanted you to get back together with Marco. That seeing you with him killed me. That when I’m with you it’s like nothing I have ever felt before. That you mean everything to me, _everything _, Eliott. That—” Lucas takes a deep breath, he’s so close that Eliott feels like he can’t breathe. “That I love you.” Eliott’s breath shudders. Lucas’ words devour him, tangle in all the places that once were dark and terrified. It consumes him like a dream, the way Lucas looks at him with a world's worth of sincerity in his eyes and he says, “That I’m in love with you.”

They’re even closer, now, Eliott blinks and he can smell the rain in Lucas’ hair, can feel his warm breaths against his skin, fingertips on his cheeks.

“I never thought — I never thought I would ever get to hear you say that.” Eliott can’t help but think of all those times he lied to Lucas, said, _ things with Marco are getting there, _like he was even trying in the first place. “I don’t — I don’t deserve that. _This _.”

Lucas frowns when Eliott takes a step back. “What do you mean?”

“I used you, Lucas. I let you think we were pretending to date so I could get Marco back, when really that stopped being the case after the first two weeks. Really I was just scared of losing you, of losing this.”

“Well, if you used me, then I used you, too,” Lucas is saying, back in Eliott’s space, even closer than before. “For going along with it knowing that I was in love with you. Does that mean I don’t deserve you, either?”

“No,” he whispers, thinks, _of course not, god, you deserve everything. _

“Then don’t ever say that.” 

The darkness is devouring, but Lucas’ eyes are bright, they cut through the black, all intense and desperate. It reminds Eliott of why he fell in love in the first place, how lovely Lucas truly is, standing here, getting himself all wet in the rain, telling Eliott how he feels like it doesn’t scare him anymore, and it’s just so _overwhelming. _

“Have you really—” Eliott’s voice cracks, he swallows. “Have you really felt it, all this time, that you love me?”

“_ Yes _,” Lucas whispers, “I love you so much sometimes I feel like I can’t even _breathe_.”

Eliott kisses him. It feels surreal, incredibly so, to hear Lucas say that when Eliott has convinced himself for so long that it could never be true. But here Lucas is, kissing Eliott like it means the world to him, smiling into his mouth when they pull away for a breath, before tugging him back in for more like he can’t get enough of it, and Eliott feels like he’s on _fire. _Feels like he’s burning with it, with the way Lucas’ tongue fits against his, how his hands fist into Eliott’s hair, how rain lashes down on them and somehow it doesn’t even matter, not at all.

When Eliott finally pulls away, his lips completely numb, he can’t help but smile, he just — he can’t believe it, _he can’t. _He runs a hand along Lucas’ cheek, his heart swelling when Lucas’ eyes flutter against the touch, eyelashes flickering against the light of the moon, raindrops light over his eyelids. He can’t quite believe that he gets this, that he gets to look at Lucas and not shove down the way his heart thuds, that he gets to hold Lucas this close and look straight into his eyes and say, “I am so, outrageously, in love with you, Lucas Lallemant,” and then kiss him until the sun comes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 my tumblr - [@lumierelovers](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/) let me know what u think, thank u all for being so patient with this mess❣️


	10. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (hi sorry for any mistakes in this i will probably catch them later!)

Light filters in gradually, thinly, over the expanse of Eliott’s chest, the curve of his shoulder. Lucas watches it as though it’s a sunrise and Eliott’s skin is the sky. He feels a little bit enraptured by the sheer beauty of it, traces his finger along one of the slanted edges of sunlight, faint like it might burn. 

He gets distracted by it, blinks himself into a bit of a daydream. It’s an indulgent one, fables of cloying words and sickly sweet smiles, where it’s just him and Eliott and maybe that incline of light. It’s something he tends to do often, think. He always has. Only his thoughts now aren’t so shaded, hidden. Lucas gets to have these things with Eliott, these fanciful things that seem sort of unbelievable — Eliott kissing him until he can’t breathe, Eliott telling him he’s beautiful, Eliott saying _I love you _and Lucas saying it right back, his chest flooding with warmth.

Lucas tends to daydream a lot and it’s entirely Eliott’s fault, it is, but it’s always been that way.

“Morning, my love.” The sound of his voice is a low hum beneath Lucas’ cheek, startling. Lucas smiles, then lifts his head to look at him properly.

“Hi,” he says, “morning.”

Eliott squints at him, eyes puffy from sleep, a lazy smile on his face as he runs a hand through Lucas’ hair. Lucas falls weak at the touch, nuzzling his nose back into Eliott’s chest.

“Did you sleep well?” Eliott asks.

Lucas exhales, says, “yeah,” runs his palm along the warm skin of Eliott’s chest, then presses a kiss there afterwards. “_Yeah_.” He snuggles further into Eliott, pressing sweet kisses over his skin; his chest, his neck, his jawline. Eliott sighs under him, then shifts so that Lucas can straddle him. Lucas continues to parade him with kisses, plants them fruitfully, like flowers, like perhaps they might bloom. And then they’re properly kissing, lips slotting together unhurriedly. Eliott’s tongue slips into Lucas’ mouth in a way that makes him gasp lightly, a way that makes him press down into Eliott’s lap, breathless, _dizzy. _

“_Lucas_.” His name is a shudder, spoken tenderly. Eliott’s hands fit so perfectly into the dip of Lucas’ waist it's almost uncanny. He angles his hips just right —

There’s a sudden banging at the bedroom door.

“_Eliott_.” It’s Idriss. “It’s almost eleven and I’m hungry!”

Lucas pulls away. Eliott lets out a small whine.

“I _swear _— every fucking morning.”

Lucas can only chuckle.

“I heard that,” Idriss shouts from the other side of the door. “That’s just what you get for lying to us, both of you!” _That’s just what you get, _he says, and yeah, Lucas thinks, that’s fair. Idriss and Sofiane hadn’t been particularly pleased when they found out about the arrangement Lucas and Eliott have had over the last few months. Eliott had told Lucas that after a long chat about it, with Eliott coming clean and explaining to them all of the miscommunication and shit that went on, Idriss had demanded that Eliott make them breakfast every morning for a month as a way to make it up to them. It's hilarious, mostly, Lucas knows they’re happy for them, really.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliott mumbles flippantly, sliding Lucas off him, then, when Lucas huffs at the sudden separation, “Later, baby,” he says, like a promise.

Nodding, Lucas lets Eliott kiss him once more, then, watching him pull on some clothes, says, “You know, I still think this is more a punishment for _them _than anything else. Your cooking sucks.”

“Fuck off,” Eliott laughs.

“It’s true.”

Lucas has to duck under the duvet to dodge the sock Eliott chucks at him, laughing when it hits his face anyway.

“I guess that means you don’t want any then,” Eliott shrugs, the collar of his t-shirt falling low over his right shoulder, frayed at the sleeves. “That’s fine. Suit yourself.”

Lucas huffs. “That’s not what I meant —”

Eliott only smirks at him, stepping over the mess Lucas’ clothes have made over his bedroom floor. “Ah — that’s too bad.”

“_Eliott_.” He tries to frown, but is betrayed by the string of giggles that follow thereafter. “I _do _want breakfast.”

“Well, that’s not what you were saying a second ago.”

Laughter bubbles out of Lucas’ stomach, defiant. “You’re so annoying.”

Eliott just grins, like he knows exactly what he does to Lucas. It’s a bit irritating; endearing, mostly.

When Eliott is gone Lucas sits up, blinking against the bright light coming in through the now opened curtains. There’s a new piece of art sellotaped to the wall next to the window, one Lucas hadn’t noticed when he came over yesterday evening. He stares at it, gets a bit lost in the sharp lines and edges of it, unable to fully grasp exactly what it’s supposed to be, like most of the things Eliott seems to paint, it’s bewildering yet beautiful. Lucas decides then that he likes the shade of blue Eliott has used most of all.

The sounds coming from the kitchen grow louder as the apartment slowly wakes up. Lucas falls back onto the mattress, pressing his nose into the familiar smell there and smiling. It’s been two weeks since things between them shifted, since they both admitted to each other how they felt. It’s been the best two weeks of Lucas’ life — well, it’s been quite an emotionally draining two weeks, too, actually, don’t get Lucas wrong. Coming to terms with all of these new boundaries, or lack thereof, that is, has been a bit disorientating. Sometimes, Lucas will catch himself almost holding back, like when he wants to reach out and run his hand through Eliott’s hair, and he’ll hesitate, briefly. But then he’ll remember that he doesn't have to, not anymore, and that’s been one of the hardest things, Lucas thinks, learning that it’s okay to let his affection show, that there’s no reason to hide it away anymore.

They’re doing alright, though, amazing even, there’s only been two nights since they confessed that they’ve fallen asleep separately. The first because Eliott had an important paper due and the second because they decided that maybe spending every night together was a bit ridiculous. They had tried to persevere for the third night but it only ended in Eliott showing up at Lucas’ front door at one in the morning with this adorable frown on his face that Lucas just couldn’t deny.

Things with Eliott are just so easy, Lucas sometimes hates that they wasted so much time tiptoeing around how they felt, that they hurt each other so much in the process, but it’s lead to where they are now, so he guesses things just needed to shed a little before they were able to come back together again. And it’s made them stronger, it has, Lucas can’t remember the last time he was this effortlessly happy.

He ends up padding into the kitchen eventually, after getting bored of staring at the ceiling and waiting for Eliott to come back to bed. Sofiane, Idriss and Eliott are all in there already, Eliott at the stove while the other two sit at the table.

“So kind of you to grace us with your presence, Lucas,” Idriss teases. Lucas just gives him the middle finger in response, making a beeline for Eliott, who hums and presses a kiss to Lucas’ hair as he tucks himself under his arm.

“Baby, I was going to bring you breakfast in bed,” Eliott whines, disappointedly, pulling Lucas into his chest.

Idriss and Sofiane are making fake gagging sounds from the table, giggling like children. Lucas ignores it. 

“Oh you were, were you?” 

Eliott hums again, smile stretched wide, the pan sizzles, he pokes around the contents of it. Lucas presses a kiss to his cheek, says, “Well, I’ll go wait for you, then,” laughing when he tries to wink at Eliott but fails.

If Idriss and Sofiane continue to tease them as he leaves the kitchen, Lucas doesn’t hear it. He’s so in love, he doesn’t care.

**   
  
**

*

**   
  
**

The holidays arrive in-between the rush of last minute assignments and exams that have Lucas almost pulling his own hair out.

The aftermath, like always, is anticlimactic. Lucas had stepped out of the building after his last exam and still felt the lingering traces of anxiety all knotted up in his chest from cramming so hard the night previous.

It wasn’t until he went over to Eliott’s later that evening to hang out, after three shitty movies and too much cheap wine, until he had Eliott pinned underneath him on the mattress, sinking down on him until they were both dizzy with it, that Lucas felt like he could finally breathe again.

And, now, here they are — a week later, home for the holidays, in two houses separated by the border of a wooden fence, and Lucas misses him.

It’s stupid, really, because they’ve only just parted ways. They’d spent the entire evening over at Eliott’s with his parents and Lucas’ mother catching up and eating good food. But when it was time for Lucas and his mother to head back next door Lucas had felt a lot more disappointed than he should have. He’s going to see Eliott tomorrow, and yet, here he is, lying on his back in his childhood bed, staring at the shadowed ceiling with his arms folded over the covers, sulking.

The room hasn’t changed much, not since Lucas was sixteen. There’s still that horrific GTA poster on the wall next to the door that he had put there because Yann said it would look cool. It doesn’t, not at all, Lucas reminds himself to take it down in the morning, replace it with something less violent and a bit more him. There’s a pile of school books stacked onto his desk that he never got around to throwing out, one of Eliott’s old hoodies thrown over the back of the chair.

Minutes drag by, Lucas stirs, unable to find comfort in the sheets that are too cold, too empty. After a while his phone buzzes from the nightstand, he ignores it at first, but then it buzzes again and his curiosity gets the better of him. The way he smiles when he sees that it’s Eliott can’t be helped, not really, he’s just glad that he’s alone and that there’s nobody around to tease him for the way he melts into a puddle amidst his navy bed sheets.

_Are you awake? _the first message says, and then, _shit I just realised how late it is, sorry if I woke you. _

Lucas laughs lightly. _You didn’t wake me _, he responds, smiling and wrapping his duvet further around his shoulders when Eliott asks if he can call.

“Hi,” Eliott says, his voice a low whisper on the other end of the phone, shivering even through the grainy connection.

“Hey.”

There’s some faint shuffling sounds on Eliott’s end before he speaks again. “Is it just me or does your bed feel impossible to sleep on?”

Lucas lets out a sigh. Thinks, _yeah, _and then, _god, we’re insufferable. _“It’s not just you.”

“I can’t really sleep knowing you’re literally, like, twenty metres away.”

“You know, you could just come over here, I’d let you in.”

Eliott huffs out a laugh. “It’s tempting, but I don’t think both of us would fit in that tiny bed of yours.”

Humming, Lucas shuts his eyes. Eliott’s voice is hushed, it’s calming in the small hours of the night, familiar in a way that makes Lucas feel warm all over. “You would just have to cuddle me extra hard.”

Behind his closed eyelids, Lucas imagines Eliott in his own bed, his phone lying next to him, loudspeaker on as he presses a smile into his pillow. The thought makes his chest ache in a good way, like a star has just exploded inside of him, nebulous, _electric _. Eliott laughs and it takes all of Lucas’ breath away.

“Somehow, I don’t think that would be much of a problem.”

“Yeah,” Lucas sighs.

“I’m going to hug you so hard when I see you tomorrow,” Eliott seems to decide, “I promise.”

Lucas bites down onto his bottom lip, smile an ache by now. “You better,” he mumbles.

They talk in hushed voices for a while, by the time Lucas looks at the clock on his nightstand it’s already nearing three and his eyes feel heavy. And it’s strange, how years ago things between them seemed so different yet they’re the same in ways Lucas’ hadn’t even noticed. Like when Eliott would stay over on the makeshift bed on Lucas’ bedroom floor and they would talk just like this, quiet as to not disturb Lucas’ mother, and something like Eliott’s shirt riding up his stomach would happen as he shifted on the bed and Lucas would have to force himself to look away. It’s different now in that if Eliott were to come over they would most likely both end up squeezing onto the single bed anyways and Lucas wouldn’t have to hide the way Eliott’s warm skin makes his mouth feel dry, but the same in how they just talk to one another because there’s too much to say yet not enough at the same time, and the sound of Eliott’s is voice is the only thing that seems to make Lucas feel calm, lately.

Lucas falls asleep shortly after, soft words swirling in his room and a smile on his face that clings to him even in dreams.

**   
  
**

*

**   
  
**

The smell of freshly baked banana bread draws the morning in.

Lucas wakes to a sweet good morning text on his phone, which he responds to with many heart emojis, before rolling out of bed and heading for the shower. Once he’s finished, his mother greets him in the kitchen. There’s a display of baked goods on the counter and she seems to be making more, still. It evokes a smile of sorts. Lucas knows how much she loves it, baking, especially for others.

“There has to be plenty if Eliott and his parents are coming over for dinner,” she explains. “And especially if I want to impress your new boyfriend.”

Lucas can’t help but blush, biting down on the inside of his cheek. He nudges her with his shoulder lightly as he goes about making their morning coffee. “Eliott already adores you, you know that.”

She pinches his cheek, getting flour everywhere in the process. “I’m so proud of you, you know _that _, right?” she says. It’s a bit unexpected, Lucas feels weirdly emotional, standing here in his childhood home, his mother filling up the room with warmth, knowing that Eliott is just next door, exactly like it was when they were kids, yet notably different, still. “I always knew there was something special between you boys,” she continues, back to kneading her dough, “I watched you grow up together, saw the way you looked at him changed. A mother doesn’t miss those kinds of things, you know, I could see how much you cared for him. How much you cared for each other.”

And it’s not said in a way that’s meant to sound accusatory, not in an _I told you so _way whatsoever. It’s merely observant, kind. Lucas feels his heart tug. “Yeah,” he whispers, the quivering of his lips adorned with a smile. “I mean — it took us a while to get there in the end but, yeah. It feels like I’ve loved him my whole life.”

It’s the easiest thing he has ever let himself admit.

After helping his mother in the kitchen for a while, Lucas wanders into the living room, flopping onto the sofa and messing around on his phone there for twenty minutes until he gets bored, and then goes to sit at the piano that’s pushed against the far wall. He lifts the lid, runs his hand along the keys that have collected a thin layer of dust since he last played. It’s been too long, he thinks, as he rummages inside the box of sheet music underneath. He finds something familiar, then fumbles around with the keys until he doesn’t really have to use the notes to remember how it goes anymore.

He doesn’t even flinch when Eliott lowers himself onto the stool next to him, sipping on a mug of something before setting it on top of the piano. Lucas figures he just let himself in. His head falls onto Lucas’ shoulder, listening silently. He smells like smoke, gold leaf, his hair tickles Lucas’ chin. Lucas scrunches his nose up but keeps playing. He plays until he reaches near the end, until he loses his footing a bit and the song tapers off. Eliott’s thumb traces lightly along his hip where his t-shirt has ridden up, he looks like he’s just woken up, but Lucas knows he’s probably been awake for a while.

Lucas steals the mug from the piano, taking a mouthful and then cringing at the bitterness of it. Black coffee. “This is why your hands shake so much,” he says, lightly, “you know, black coffee and nicotine at ten in the morning.”

Eliott only huffs out a soft laugh, then, turning slightly, completely engulfs Lucas with his arms in a bone crushing hug.

“_Eliott_,” Lucas squirms, “what —”

“I said I was going to hug you really hard when I saw you today,” Eliott says, voice muffled by Lucas’ shirt. Lucas lets out a breath, eyes falling shut, squeezing right back.“I meant it.”

Lucas melts. “I love you, you idiot.”

Eventually, Eliott lifts his head from Lucas’ shoulder, and with a smile that’s soft, completely enrapt, he asks, “Can you teach me?”

“This one?” Lucas nods at the sheet music.

“Anything.”

He ends up teaching Eliott something simple, a song he learned as a kid that’s easy enough to pull from his memory. Eliott kind of butchers his part, but it’s okay, in the end, Lucas guides his hands along with the melody and then feels his heart warm when Eliott suggests they get their very own piano when they move in together.

It ends up in a fit of giggles, and Lucas can’t stop smiling, can’t stop thinking about how in love he is.

“Can I show you something?” Eliott says after a while.

A curious smile stretches across Lucas’ face. “What is it?”

Eliott stands, holding out his hand. “You have to come with me.”

Lucas eyes him skeptically, but lets Eliott tug him by the hand out of the living room nonetheless. He is, much more now than ever before, weak to the sweet things that Eliott asks of him.

“Where are we going?” Lucas asks when Eliott leads him out of the front door, over the front lawn and then into his own garden. He doesn’t respond, only slips in through the side gate, Lucas trudging behind him.

“Here we are,” he announces, stopping suddenly.

Lucas looks up, met with the structure of Eliott’s old treehouse, a ratty old thing, aged with damp and splinters. “This is what you wanted to show me?”

In lieu of an answer, Eliott fits his right foot into one of the gaps in the ladder. It unsettles slightly under his weight, creaking. Lucas winces.

“You coming?” he calls, halfway up the ladder.

“Are you serious, Eliott? This thing is like, twenty years old, we’re gonna die.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he scoffs, now at the very top, grinning, legs dangling over the edge. “_Come on_.”

Lucas glares at him, arms folded. Yann’s voice rings in his ears, _you’re so whipped, _and Lucas knows this, he does. He huffs, then follows Eliott up.

“It doesn’t feel as high as it did when we were younger, you know,” Eliott is saying as he crawls into the little den bit of the treehouse. It’s covered in spiderwebs, and there aren’t any blankets up here like there used to be, instead just the damp wooden ground. Lucas scrunches his nose up. “It’s still cosy though, don’t you think?”

Lucas just looks at him until they burst into laughter.

“Okay,” Eliott settles, looking around, “so it needs a bit of work done.”

Lucas hums, crawling over to sit next to Eliott. It’s been a long time since they last came up here, they sort of grew out of it by the time they got to the end of high school, instead opting to spend time in each other’s rooms, the park behind their houses, Yann’s basement when his mum wasn’t home and they could do whatever the fuck they wanted without being told off.

This, though, as much as Lucas complains, it’s nice, brings back a flood of memories that make him smile.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” Eliott says, sitting up on his knees and peeling away one of the worn posters on the wall. When he moves out of the way for Lucas to see properly, a small gasp escapes him. “Did you know this was here?” Eliott asks, pointing at the _E + L _engraved into the wood of the treehouse. 

Lucas frowns. “No — I, no.”

Eliott smiles, it’s a bit sad, the way he does. Something in Lucas’ chest unhinges.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “I did it the night before I moved out for university. I was so upset, you know, I knew I wasn’t moving very far, that I could still come and see you whenever I wanted. But I just didn’t want to leave you, to not be able to see you everyday.”

“Eliott,” Lucas whispers lamely, feels all of his thoughts scatter, words burnt out in his throat like dying flames.

Eliott shakes his head. “I didn’t even know that I was in love with you then, I knew that you meant more to me than anyone else in the world. But I was too afraid to admit it to myself. So I did this and I didn’t — didn’t know why, really, at the time. I guess it just felt right. I know now though. I know it’s because I loved you. And I know that we’ve been over this so many times already, but I just need you to know that. That I love you so fucking much, Lucas, that it’s always been you. _Always._”

Lucas’ cheeks are damp by the time Eliott finishes speaking. “Fuck you, I’m crying now,” he huffs, lightly, wiping stubbornly at his eyes.

Eliott runs his hand over Lucas’ back soothingly. “I’m sorry, it’s just true.”

Lucas looks at the engraving, the messy letters, _their _letters. They're clear, still, after only two years. _Two years, god. _Eliott has loved him for two years, maybe more. He may not have known it yet, but still, it was there. The thought causes something to bloom inside of Lucas’ chest, something full of warmth, love.

“I love you,” he says, looking at Eliott with blurry eyes. Eliott smiles, his own eyes might be wet, too, Lucas can’t really tell. He buries himself into Eliott’s chest, lets Eliott hold him close until he feels like he’s able to speak again.

“You know,” Lucas mumbles, looking around himself, smiling, “this is actually where I first realised that I was in love with you.”

At this Eliott raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Lucas nods. “You were looking at the moon, and you were trying to explain to me why it looked the way it did that night. I wasn’t even listening. I couldn’t stop thinking about how badly I just wanted you to kiss me.”

“Shit, Lucas. I had no idea.” Eliott’s breath shudders. He is crying now, too, his eyes are a darkened grey, watery around the edges. “I was hurting you for so long and I had no idea.”

“It’s not your fault.” Lucas reaches out to cup one side of Eliott’s face. “How could you have known? I purposely hid it from you.”

Eliott covers Lucas’ hand with his own. “I know. I just can’t help but think about how things would be so different if I’d have noticed sooner, or realised how I felt quicker.”

“Hey,” Lucas whispers, because _they’ve been over this, too much, _“we can’t dwell on the what-if‘s, rememberer? All we can do is promise each other that from now on we tell each other everything — if something is wrong, or bothering us, no matter how small it is, we talk about it, and we deal with it, okay? No more hiding things.”

The smile that falls over Eliott’s face is soft, pretty, Lucas melts a little under it, feels his heart flail.

“No more hiding things,” Eliott repeats, resting his forehead against Lucas’. “Promise.”

He pulls Lucas in for a kiss. Lucas sighs into it, lets Eliott kiss him slow and deep. He tastes like that black coffee and tobacco from earlier, the way his tongue slides against Lucas’ makes his toes curl, he grips onto Eliott’s hair, tries to pull him as close as possible. 

“I love you,” Eliott pants when they pull apart, breathless, watery, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Lucas says, huffing. “God we’re so gross.” Then he kisses Eliott again, and again, and again, until they’re giggling, until their tears are just stains against the warmth of their cheeks, until his heart feels so full he thinks it might just burst.

**   
  
**

***  
**

“Can I ask you something?”

The train from their parents’ back into the centre of Paris isn’t too gruelling of a journey, but Eliott still spends the majority of the time napping with his head on Lucas’ shoulder, their hands intertwined on his lap.

He’s awakened, since, blinking sleepily at Lucas as shadows flicker over his face from the window outside. And Lucas, in the silence of the train ride home, has been thinking a lot. He knows that it’s probably not good for him, how his mind spirals the way it does sometimes, he knows he overthinks too much, until a thought consumes him_ . _But he can’t necessarily help it, he’s been trying, consciously, to do it less, but he’s only human.

“Of course you can,” Eliott says, twisting a little on his seat to face Lucas better. He squeezes Lucas’ hand, the pressure is comforting, solid. Lucas squeezes back.

“When — back when I thought you and Marco were getting back together, he — he came into my work to buy you a drink, that’s how I knew you weren’t doing so good. And I can’t stop thinking about it, like, how he knew, if you turned him away that day and hadn’t spoken to him since.” Lucas glances away, bottom lip curled under his teeth. “I don’t know, it’s probably stupid, I just can’t work it out. And we said we’d talk more about the things that are bothering us, and this has been, so.”

For a few moments Eliott just watches him, then his eyes fall down to their hands, blinking at them, thinking.

“He came to your work?” is what Eliott says, frowning.

Lucas nods, thinks back to how low he had felt in that moment, how small he had felt with Marco standing opposite him, but also about how much has changed since then, how none of that really matters anymore, because he isn’t going to let other people dictate how he feels about Eliott anymore, or how Eliott feels about him. He isn’t going to allow anyone to take that away from them, is what Lucas has decided, he isn’t going to let anyone fracture what they have built together.

“First of all,” Eliott says, “it’s not stupid, don’t ever say that. Nothing you feel is ever stupid, not to me.” He shakes his head, letting out a light breath. His eyes look into Lucas’ in that intense sort of way that makes Lucas want to shy away yet not be able to look anywhere else all at once. “About Marco, I don’t really know. Sofiane said something about him trying to come up and talk to me again, one day, that was after I turned him away the first time. Sofiane refused to let him even into the building, maybe he said something, I promise I don’t know, Lucas, I told him I didn’t want to know. I’d barely left my bed in a week, at that point.”

Somewhere in between Eliott’s words and Lucas’ thoughts the train has stopped, people beginning to stand and collect their luggage. Lucas doesn’t move, Eliott doesn’t either. Lucas thinks that a few weeks ago, Eliott’s words might have scared him, that he properly wouldn’t have believed that. But now, knowing Eliott, knowing how they both feel, there is nothing Lucas can do but trust the sincerity in Eliott’s eyes.

“He didn’t let me in, either. Sofiane,” Lucas murmurs after a short silence. “I came to see you that day too.”

Eliott’s smile, it’s sad, but still full of so much love all the same.

“I know,” he says, leaning close so that their noses brush. Lucas’ eyes flutter shut when he feels Eliott’s palm against his cheek. And, again, so quiet Lucas almost misses it, he whispers, “_always_,” like it’s a promise, like he knows, like he remembers. Lucas sighs, wrapping his arms around Eliott’s neck and kissing him softly, doesn’t really care at all that they’re in a crowded train with people moving all around them.

Because that was Lucas’ shot in the dark, you see, he had gone over that day not really knowing what was going on in his own head, but he had known that he just needed to be there for Eliott no matter what, to make sure that he was okay. And knowing that Eliott got his message, that he remembers it, still, that it meant something to him even then, well, that means the world.

“Thank you,” Eliott speaks again, tracing the dip of Lucas’ cheekbone, “for that, I guess. And this, too, talking to me about it.”

Lucas presses his thumb into Eliott’s cheek, the curve of his smile. “We said no more hiding things, didn’t we?”

Eliott hums, smiles like he can’t help it. Lucas latches onto him as though he might disappear if he’s not careful. 

(Although, deep down, he knows that’s not entirely true. Eliott isn’t going anywhere, and neither is Lucas.)

_No more hiding. _

**   
  
**

***  
  
**

Lucas isn’t particularly listening to the argument unfolding in front of him — Yann and Basile trying to decide who’s go it is to play against Arthur on Fifa, Basile saying that the only reason Yann wins so much is because it always seems to be his turn, Yann defending that he’s earned those turns fair and square, actually.

Arthur sends Lucas a fed up look. Lucas snorts.

It’s then that his phone buzzes, Eliott’s name across the screen. _Are you home? I’m outside. _Lucas frowns at the text, they hadn’t planned to hang out this evening, not that Lucas can recall anyways. It’s not like he’s complaining. _Yeah I’ll buzz you in, _he responds. Standing and announcing to the guys, “Eliott’s here,” then ignoring the way all arguments subside in favour of teasing him as he walks to the door.

Eliott is smiling when Lucas lets him in, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Hi,” Lucas says, lingering in the hallway, “are you okay?”

Eliott’s smile widens as he cups Lucas’ cheeks. “Yeah, I’m great. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Lucas frowns, worried. “We didn’t have plans that I’ve forgotten about, did we?”

At this Eliott huffs out a laugh. “No, we didn’t have plans. I just wanted to see you.”

_Oh_, Lucas thinks. “Oh.” He covers Eliott’s hands with his own, fingers tracing along their soft edges, then squeezing. Still, after all these months, it’s words like these that take a little bit getting used to, for Lucas. Eliott so effortlessly offering up his heart in ways that he doesn’t even mean to.

“And you’re the first person I wanted to tell,” Eliott says again, taking a step closer.

Lucas tilts his head back, one of his hands running down the length of Eliott’s forearm. “What?”

For a few moments Eliott just stares at him, this twinge of excitement laced inside the faded blue of his eyes. The tips of his boots touch Lucas’ toes, curling when Eliott’s breath fans across his skin. “I got the feedback for my project today,” he says, “there’s this scheme for film students, a competition where you enter your idea and if they like it enough they’ll help you fund it. Denis said he’d write me a recommendation, which, he like, rarely ever does, Camille said. Which is kind of crazy, because I was going to apply anyway, but being the only one in the class with a recommendation, it gives me such a good advantage.”

“Eliott that’s —” Lucas shakes his head, smiling, “that’s so amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah,” Eliott breathes, “I mean, it doesn’t mean I’ll get it or anything, not when so many others apply. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but.” His sentence falls a bit flat, Lucas sees the way he tries to play it down, his excitement, he squeezes his arm.

“You’ll get it.” Eliott goes to protect, Lucas shakes his head, definite. “You will.”

It’s then that Basile pokes his head out of the living room. “Are you guys playing or what?”

Lucas huffs. Eliott presses a kiss to his forehead. “Come on.”

**   
  
**

Then, later, a low murmur in the haze of night, just after the hours have gone foggy, “Tell me about it.” 

Beneath Lucas, Eliott shifts, humming in question.

“Your film,” Lucas expands, lifting his head from the spot on Eliott’s chest that he’s become so acquainted with now.

Eliott’s laugh, soft and shivering, spills lightly into the dim room. “You already know what it’s about,” he says, pushing away the hair that’s fallen flat over Lucas’ forehead.

“I know,” Lucas insists, “But I want to hear about it again.”

Thing is, see, there’s just something so calming about listening to Eliott speak about the things he loves, the things he’s passionate about. And Lucas has fallen, hard, for this and the way when Eliott loves something he does so severely. It’s not unexpected, really, when he asks — sometimes for Eliott to tell him about an art piece, other times to explain an intricate movie meaning that Lucas probably still won’t understand very well afterwards, but he listens, still, enrapt, quiet, _in love. _

“Well,” Eliott murmurs, “it’s about these two people who meet under extraordinary circumstances. They’re from two completely different worlds, but they become drawn to one another, they grow closer. They want to be together, but there’s something stopping them, because they’re both too afraid to enter into the other’s world. They have to learn to trust one another, to overcome their fears, before they’re able to really see one another.” He pauses, briefly, Lucas rests his chin onto his chest, feels the faint flutter of Eliott’s heartbeat there. Eliott’s finger trails down Lucas’ spine, the touch delicate. “When they do, it’s magical, it’s — it’s like those two worlds collide, _intense_. I want it to be intense, you know, because that’s what it feels like, don’t you think? Love.”

_Love_, Lucas thinks. The thing about love, see, is that Lucas had been so afraid of it, once. He thought that it had to be this massive and momentous thing that meant the world.

And it does, in a sense, it does. But it’s also a lot simpler than that.

Love, Lucas has decided, is watching Eliott leaning over his laptop, fingers tugging at his bottom lip as his eyes flit over the screen, blue light caught in the ends of his eyelashes, and feeling so overwhelmed with happiness he can’t even _speak _. It’s walking out of a lecture hall and instantly seeing Eliott right there waiting for him. It’s falling asleep warm and waking up even warmer. It’s looking at Eliott whenever he’s close and thinking, _you make me feel so safe _. It's laughing until their stomachs ache. It’s standing in the kitchen in his bare feet at two in the morning, his heart in his throat and the feeling of the weight of the world on his shoulders but having Eliott’s soft voice buried into his hair, soothing, calming, loving. It’s their hands brushing as they walk along the street together, fingers slotting together just because. Love, it’s in these effortless things, these intimate things that curl around Lucas’ chest and make his entire body feel lighter. 

Eliott had told him one night as he was working on a screenplay, that he believes they’ll find each other in every universe out there, no matter what they have to go through to get there in the end.

And, _yeah_, Lucas thinks, his heart still fluttering in the same way it did the very first time Eliott smiled at him, _that’s love_.

“My mother told me once that love is like the sea,” Lucas whispers, “it can be intense, sometimes, like a storm. But it can also be calm, deep. I used to not understand what the hell she meant by that, but I think I get it now, I do.”

Eliott smiles down at him. “I like that.”

“Yeah? It’s not too cheesy for you?”

Humming, Eliott shifts so that Lucas slips off his chest. He shuffles until they’re lying on their sides facing one another and he wraps his arms around Lucas’ waist, pulling him closer.

“The way I love you, is unlike anything I have ever felt before, ever.”

Lucas’ chest caves in, he kisses Eliott, words too raw at the tip of his tongue. He presses them into Eliott’s lips instead, and it is, it’s so easy, it’s unfathomable. It’s so easy to love Eliott, they’ve come a long way, and perhaps Lucas’ reality is biased, tinted rose, he doesn’t really care.

That feeling, _love _— deep, intense, _dizzying _— it’s everything.

**   
  
**

*

Yann is standing under the shade of a tree when Lucas emerges from his last lecture of the week.

After greeting one another — or, rather, Yann teasing Lucas for the pen mark on his cheek and Lucas telling him to fuck off — they wordlessly pass the bus stop and begin their walk home together. They’re walking a lot slower than usual, but Lucas doesn’t mind, it’s a nice day out, now that spring is steadily approaching, the sun a faint thing over their skin and the trees sprouting brand new leaves.

“I can’t believe you’re moving out next week,” Yann says, kicking listlessly at a stone on the pavement.

Lucas glances over to him, sunlight reflecting off the shop window they pass and catching in his eyes, he squints past it. “Yeah, me neither. It’s kind of crazy.”

It is, when Lucas thinks about it, it’s quite surreal, actually, the fact that just months ago Lucas had been so convinced that he would never find a happiness like this one, that he would never be able to say out loud that he loves someone and that they love him right back. He had been so afraid, not long ago, and, yet, here he is, now, beaming.

“I think Idriss is going to make a wonderful new flatmate for you guys, Eliott says literally all he does is play fifa.” Lucas grins, thinks about how well that’s worked out, Imane and Sofiane deciding to move in together at the same time Luacs and Eliott did, leaving Lucas’ old room for Idriss. “You better not forget about me, though.”

At this, Yann snorts. “How could I? I’m sure you’ll both be over to annoy us too much for that to happen.”

Lucas only shoves him in response.

“But seriously, though,” Yann says, looking at Lucas a lot more seriously. “I’m so happy for you.”

The words stain Lucas’ cheeks, painting them red. If Yann notices he doesn’t mention it. “Don’t tell me you’re going all soft on me, now,” Lucas jokes lightheartedly.

Yann shrugs. “Of course not. But it’s just good, seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

Something in the air twists, a breeze, maybe, the continuous thawing of Lucas’ chest.

“Happy.”

There’s something in Yann’s eyes that makes Lucas feel warm all over. And he smiles, in lieu of a proper answer, doesn’t really think he has one that would amount to even half of what he feels.

“I mean, I guess you could say this is all thanks to me, you know, for pushing you to talk to each other.”

Lucas tells Yann that that’s ludicrous, what he says, but deep down, secretly, in a way he would never admit to Yann, Lucas knows. _I know_, he thinks, the words carved deep into his chest, _I’m so glad I have you. _

He doesn’t dare say these things, he thinks, _hopes _, that somewhere in-between the scant gaps of his ribcage, Yann knows, anyway.

“Things between you two are good, then?”

The smile that falls over Lucas’ face is automatic, light. “Yeah,” he breathes, “I mean, we hurt each other a lot, but we know that. And we’re trying to be better, to talk more, be more honest.”

“That’s good. I’m glad,” Yann says, “You both deserve it after everything.”

The Paris buildings loom over them as they continue their walk home, the afternoon drawing in the evening. Gold fades over the skyline, terracotta, peach, vibrant and then soft like the paintings on Eliott’s wall. Lucas tilts his head back, eyes shut against the glare of the setting sun, he sighs, and it feels as though the entire city sighs with him, relief pulled from the very core of its bones.

All of a sudden it’s a lot, too much, not enough. He pulls out his phone just as they’re approaching the apartment building, going straight to Eliott’s contact. _Look at the sun, _he writes to him, _can’t wait to see you later. _

Eliott’s reply comes instantly. _I’m already looking, _he says, _so beautiful, _the words hug Lucas warmly, propel him down the street like he’s a flower blooming in the sun.

Light, happy, _free_.

And then, there Eliott is, standing on the pavement right outside Lucas’ apartment building, and he smiles — “_I’m already looking._”

  
  


*

There’s a thing about love that Lucas hadn’t known before.

Nobody tells you how stirring it is, how one minute it’s watery and falling through your fingers and the next it’s everywhere like a storm. And Lucas doesn’t really know what he had been doing before this, before Eliott, hopelessly wandering around in hopes that something would come along and save him from the depths he had fallen to. But like that storm, lightning and such, unpredictable and watertight, that’s exactly all it took, in the end, the thing he had been most terrified of now something that clings to him vibrantly.

Boxes have been long shifted from the moving van, now piled in stacks around them. Eliott lies on his back on the hardwood floor, chest caving and then rising, sweat along his forehead. Lucas pads in from the kitchen, lowering onto the floor next to him, legs crossed, mug of tea held close to his chest.

Silence consumes, briefly, like a plug pulled from its socket now that their friends have left, leaving just them, here, Lucas and Eliott, in their new apartment. _Theirs. _Lucas huffs out a disbelieving breath.

At the sound of it, Eliott looks up at him, humming softly. “What is it?” he asks.

Lucas shrugs, eyes wandering around the room, the boxes filled with all their things, the empty space left for the sofa they don’t own yet, the piano pushed against the far wall, and then back down to Eliott again, who watches Lucas fondly.

“I just — I’m happy.”

Eliott grins. “Yeah?”

Nodding, Lucas sets his tea onto the floor, using his now free hand to cradle the side of Eliott’s face. “Are you happy?”

Eliott leans into the touch. His eyes meet Lucas’ in a soft explosion of blue and grey. “Of course I’m happy,” he says, turning to press a kiss to Lucas’ palm, “of course I am.”

“I never thought I could feel this happy,” Lucas admits, trailing a finger along Eliott’s cheek, across his jawline, softly lingering. “Thank you.”

Eliott sits up onto his elbows. “What are you thanking me for?”

Lucas just looks at Eliott and all the words he thinks about saying feel useless, completely meagre, he thinks Eliott can tell by the way he sits up entirely, arms wrapping around Lucas’ shoulders and holding him close. Lucas’ nose buries into the cotton of his hoodie, soft and smokey smelling. He laughs at himself weakly, fisting into Eliott’s sides. Eliott pulls away, but only slightly, and he rests his palm along Lucas’ cheek, the touch is delicate, loving, it stirs something overwhelming inside of Lucas’ chest.

“This is our first home together,” Eliott says, completely unaware of the way the things he says affect Lucas, oblivious to the disorder they cause. The insinuation of a future, stability, something that once appeared so far-removed. And now it’s here, right in the palm of Lucas’ hand like a dream. The evening has clouded the room in cool shades of blue, contouring Eliott’s smile in sharp shadows, the sight is breathtaking. In the darkness Lucas tries to hide the way his skin flushes, but it’s pointless because Eliott sees anyway, of course he does. He doesn’t wait for Lucas to think of a response. “So what do you want to do for our first night here together, then?”

Lucas looks off to the side, where the bedroom door has been left open, a mattress shoved into the corner next to the unmade bed frame, where Eliott has already stuck a flimsy picture of them onto the wall, an endless battle with sellotape from earlier. He smiles, there’s a longing feeling attached to that, the promise of a room that’s theirs, a space just for them, no matter how thin the walls in Paris may be.

“—we could watch a movie,” Eliott is saying, ignorant to the shiver that falls along Lucas’ spine when their hands lace together, “—I mean, I’ll have to set up the dvd player, somehow, I still need to figure out how to do that—” 

“_ Eliott _—” Their movements still, the night’s, too, maybe, an amused breath spills out. “I want you to kiss me until I can’t speak.”

Eliott flusters, thrown off track. “I — I can do that, yeah.” 

Lucas burns under the brazenness of his own words, there’s no reason to, not really, not when he’s made bolder comments, especially not when Eliott knows this, too, but perhaps it’s that thought that does it. That not long ago Lucas wouldn’t have dared to say something of the sorts, not to Eliott, and now here they are, in their own apartment, their hearts spilling all over the hardwood floor, slipping in between the scant cracks of the wood, and Lucas is loving Eliott in ways that are so loud it frightens him almost.

“I mean, we must celebrate, somehow,” Lucas lifts his tea, it’s gone cold, he sips at it anyway, “us moving in together, you getting the funding for your film, no more nosy flatmates,” he pauses, smirking, “me having the best boyfriend in the world.”

Eliott watches him all doe eyed, mouth stretched wide and pretty, his laughter soft. “Is that so?”

Another smart comment is almost made, but it’s lost to the firm drag of Eliott’s lips, his hands, his tongue. And they fall together like that, pull and tug like a tide, basked in the soft moonlight, hearts spread across the unmade floor mattress, laughter spilling from their bones. There’s something about the way Eliott holds him in the dull light, the way he whispers into his skin, eyelashes fluttering there as he does, that makes Lucas feel so completely enamoured.

A star stirs, right by where the moon glows through the open window, and a galaxy erupts inside Lucas’ chest, behind his eyelids, Eliott’s smile amongst the wreckage, and he thinks, with his heart thumping high in his chest, _I am never going to let you go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there she is!! thank u all so much for sticking with this and with my mess of an updating schedule!!! hopefully it was worth it 💗
> 
> my tumblr is [@lumierelovers](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/) i love u all massive massive amounts!!!!! pls let me know what u thought here or on tumblr i would love to talk all things elu in this universe with u <3


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